


Knights of Cybertron

by bandam



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Attempt at Humor, But also not, Drama, Fluff and Angst, Ghosts, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Out of Character, Romance, Slow Burn, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-06-27 13:23:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 40,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19791748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bandam/pseuds/bandam
Summary: The Functionist Empire has been deposed by the combined forces of the Decepticon and Autobot Rebellion. Now, with the war over, the Kingdoms of Cybertron are trying to rebuild their world together.Finally, a few lonely sparks might finally get the chance to find their matches.





	1. Knights of Cybertron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long ago, on a world far, far away...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it's about time for an update. How about you guys?

For centuries, the Functionalist Council ruled the Cybertronian Empire. Energon was rationed according to station; Station was assigned according to function; Function was assigned however the council saw fit.

Some mechs were constructed by the Council at the Well of the Allspark; others, forged by the merged sparks of their creators. For the most part, a spark was a spark to the Council. It only mattered if they were deemed strong or useful enough to be given the privileges of freedom and the promise of a good life. The disposables- constructed or forged mechs with unusual alts or unimpressive abilities- were seen as unnecessary at worst and simple tools at best. They often served as solutions to problems the Council wouldn't publicly address— they were slaves, doing all the work that kept Cybertron alive. Miners, laborers, farmers, anything that needed to be done. They did, or they would die.

Such was the way of life for millions of mechs until one fateful cycle, when a single gladiator from incited a rebellion that would change Cybertron forever.

When the Council found it could no longer contain the ever-growing threat from the Gladiator's strengthening forces, they sent their most famous warrior to quell the rebel threat: Knight-Legionnaire Orion Pax.

Rather than fight, however, Orion and his men defected from the Imperial Army, along with a large number of forces led by the traitorous Senator Shockwave. The loyal soldiers that followed Pax into the rebellion called themselves the 'Autobots' and forged an alliance with the rebel 'Decepticons'.

Together, the Alliance forces rallied the Kingdoms of Cybertron against the Council. With the help of Lord Tyrest of distant Luna and Prince Starscream of Vos, the Alliance fought its way to Iacon and destroyed the council once and for all. 

With the Empire gone, Cybertron dissolved back into the ancient kingdoms that had existed before. 

There were three large territories: The Northern Kingdom of Iacon, now ruled by Lord Shockwave and his conjunx-to-be, Ser Orion Pax; The Southern Kingdom of Tarn ruled by Lord Megatron; and the Kingdom of Vos in the middle, ruled by its own hereditary Princes, Lords Starscream, Thundercracker, and Skywarp. The Kingdom of Luna was a far-off colony ruled by King Tyrest. Several smaller countries and city-states— Nyon, Caminus, Praxia— were scattered in between the larger nations. 

It had been less than a year since the fall of the Empire, and from the ashes of that tyranny, there was a tentative peace. 

Now, many of the soldiers and civilians had begun to recover from the three-year revolution and the even longer Silver War that had preceded it, the people of Cybertron were ready for an era of unprecedented change.

At least, that was the goal of a red winged mecha who was currently charging through the castle halls in the Vosian Royal Palace with a servant following quickly behind.


	2. Beginnings

"Lady Windblade, please. You can't bother Lord Starscream right now. He's still preparing for the visit from Lord Shockwave and his conjunx endura. You know how he gets when he's interrupted." The palace seeker begged. 

"I know, Downburst!" Windblade hissed in frustration. "But they're all already!"

Windblade felt a pang of guilt as the seeker servant's wings flinched in fear.

"Listen," she offered, pausing to take the mech by his shoulders, "You don't want to be caught in the middle of this, and I don't want you to get you in trouble. Why don't you go find Prince Warp and tell him that Iaconian he keeps chattering about is here. Welt-hat, or whoever he is."

"Ser Wheeljack?" The servant offered.

"Yes! That's the one! Now go find Skywarp and make sure he at least shows up for dinner. That way we might get one of them to show up on time, at least." 

"Yes, my lady. As you wish." The servant said with a quick bow before scampering off as quickly as possible.

Windblade continued her forward march to Starscream's chambers, letting herself into the royal's room with a quick swipe of the controls. Prince Thundercracker, who had been leaning against it in half-stasis, fell to the ground with a yelp while his royal pain of a sparkbrother meticulously applied a final layer of polish to his frame.

"Starscream! What in Primus' name are you doing? Lord Shockwave and his guests arrived 10 minutes ago!" She complained. "They've all been waiting in the ballroom for you to come down!"

Starscream looked at her, optics betraying only the barest hint of consternation.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" He said. "Do you expect me to greet my guests looking like some common seeker cadet? I'm almost finished, so just shut up and wait a klik. If there's a single scuff on my paint you may as well send the lot of them packing back home."

Windblade would have throttled him if she knew his pettiness wasn't an empty threat. She held her hand to her face in an attempt to regain what little fragments of her composure remained as Thundercracker took the opportunity to sneak down the hall. 

"Calm yourself, Windblade. It's unbecoming of a mech of your stature to have so much stress in your field." Starscream said from his stool, carefully placing the lid back on his polish and examining himself from each angle in the tall vanity mirror. "Now, let's greet our guests, shall we?"

"I'm going to kill you as soon as this is over, Starscream." She promised. 

"After tonight, you will have to join a line." He replied with a smirk, throwing open his chamber doors to Skywarp's nervous frame and Thundercracker's ever-present frown.

"So are we sure that Lord Megatron is coming?" Skywarp asked. 

"I saw him arrive with his Kingsguard earlier." Windblade spoke as she led the three princes down the winding stairs to the first floor of the Vosian Palace. "Ser Soundwave and Ser Knockout are with him." 

"Do you think he remembers us?" Thundercracker asked.

"How could he forget?" Starscream interrupted. "We saved him and his little army a hundred times over. The entire Empire owes its freedom to us - to me. Megatron would be nothing without my armada." 

"The autobots did help, too, you know." Thundercracker snarked.

"Nobody cares about the autobots like you, T.C. We get it." Starscream snapped. "You can go find the yellow scout and transfer all the paint you want."

"One of the servants said you saw Wheeljack, Windblade?" Warp asked as his sparkbrothers exchanged death threats for the third time this morning.

"I believe so, yes. There's quite a few diplomats with Lord Shockwave. Some of them are a little familiar, the red one with the stupid voice, the huge blue mech with the hammer, the chubby little yellow bot."

"Bumblebee came?" Thundercracker asked as his wings twitched in poorly contained excitement. 

"Shut it! All of you!" Starscream hissed as they finally stepped onto the top of the staircase overlooking the grand ballroom. It was filled with mechs from across the kingdoms, of different factions and alt modes, all intermingling freely with each other for the first time.

Windblade couldn't hold back a smile at the sight. She turned her bright optics up to Starscream as he stepped up to the railing to address his guests. 

"Mechs and mecha of Cybertron! I, Prince Starscream, welcome you to the Palace of Vos. For the first time in millennia, we can finally gather here in peace and equality. No more are we separated, city from city, kingdom from kingdom, by insurmountable walls of metal and meaningless Functionist divisions. No more are we slaves to form, slaves to our forgings, or tools belonging to foolish masters. We are free mechs! Free to choose whatever path we wish! Tonight, we celebrate the first night of true freedom in Vos! Tomorrow, we will dismantle the Cage and allow the city to rejoin the world of Cybertron by land, by sea, and now, by air! We of Vos will ally ourselves with the Kingdoms of Iacon and Tarn so that we may pursue an unprecedented era of peace and prosperity!" 

The crowd erupted into cheers and applause as Windbalde leaned over to whisper to Thundercracker. "That was the shortest speech he's ever given. He barely evenentioned himself. Is he alright?"

"Yeah, look over there," he pointed, "third pillar on the left from the wall." 

She did, following the blue seeker's gaze. Megatron was leaning back against the pillar with a crooked smile on his face, clapping his large hands in tandem with the crowd as he watched Starscream motion for the guests to move towards the banquet hall. 

"If he was any other bot, he wouldn't have managed to get three words out." Skywarp snickered. "He's got it bad."

"If he was any other bot," Thundercracker replied with a smirk, "he'd just go down there and beg Megatron to frag him already."

"That's enough of that chattering, you three. Let's go meet our guests." Starscream commanded.

"Do we have to?" Skywarp complained, following his trine leader but dragging his pedes across the smooth stone floor and drooping his wings like a punished sparkling. "T.C. and I don't need to be there. Not like we get a say in anything anyway."

"Yes." Starscream and Windblade demanded in unison as they stepped into the banquet hall. Windblade rushed ahead of them, moving to stand in front of the guests of honor. 

"Prince Starscream, may I introduce Lord Shockwave and his conjunx-to-be, Ser Orion Pax. My Lords, this is Starscream, Prince of Vos, High Chancellor of the Refulgent Vosian Dynasty and Defender of the Realm. These are his sparkbrothers and trinemates, Prince Thundercracker and Prince Skywarp." She finished. 

"An honor to finally meet you, Prince Starscream." Shockwave said, bowing for a polite Vosian greeting. "Orion tells me that you and your trine were instrumental in the defeat of the Council. I'm afraid I was a bit occupied at the time, but I've heard it was quite the spectacle."

Starscream politely waved his hand in return. "The honor is mine, Lord Shockwave. We were simply doing our duty to the people of Vos and all of Cybertron. Without your leadership and the reinforcement of your soldiers, I doubt any of us would have met with any lasting success." He answered sagely.

"Ah, so I see you've found each other," a deep voice crooned. "Excellent. I wondered how long it would take in this crowd." Megatron said, sidling up between the two other leaders with a smile. 

"Megatron, my friend." Orion began, reaching out to pull his amica endura into a hug. "It is good to finally see you out of Tarn. Are you well? How are the people?"

Megatron tightened the hug, playfully lifting his amica endura into the air before setting him back down. "Tarn is faring far better thanks to you and Shockwave. And Vos, of course," he smirked, finally turning his ruby red optics to Starscream's. "The seekers' air supply routes have enabled us to repair our cities three times as quickly as we had initially predicted. We are very grateful." He said, reaching his arm out to Starscream's in a traditional Tarnish greeting. 

Starscream reached out to grasp Megatron's large hand in return. He continued to hold Starscream's hand for just a moment longer than what was proprietary, but to any seeker watching who could read the twitch of his left wing at the barely touch, the moment was a whisper laid bare.

Skywarp coughed politely.

"Well, as I said to you when this war began," Starscream answered as returned his arm slowly, carefully picking each word, "Vos has every intention of offering it's assistance to its allies. Where Tarn goes, Vos follows."

If his voice was a touch more gravelly than usual, nobody seemed to notice. 

"Well, Orion," Shockwave began, "I'm eager to see what goodies these Vosians have. I'm tired of weeks-old imports and crusty rations. Let's say we find our seats… if that pleases you, Lord Starscream?"

"Of course. if you'll follow me to the head of the main table, I have our seats reserved and a variety of Vosian dishes arranged for us all. Everyone else is free to sit where they wish, of course." He announced, guiding them all to their seats at the end of the table. Shockwave and Orion sat side by side, across the table from Megatron and himself. 

Skywarp managed to find himself a seat by Wheeljack, the famed Iaconian blacksmith, while Thundercracker had managed to get pulled into a seat by the cassetticons. He glared daggers across the hall at Windblade while she chatted with Bumblebee and Ironhide.

It didn't take long for the castle staff to begin serving the highly concentrated Vosian engex Starscream had requisitioned from the Council's old supply. It also did not take very long for the engex to take full effect. Perhaps, Starscream thought drearily, a little too quickly. The ceiling was already swimming above his optics.

"I'm sorry, Orion, but I'm going to eat so many of these engex candies that I may actually die. You'll make a great queen even without me, I promise." Lord Shockwave slurred before pointing his fork to Megatron. "Megatron, you're the only mech allowed to conjunx him if I die."

"Shockwave! That's a horrible thing to say! I'd rather eat dirt than spend one second trying to be in charge of Iacon." Orion whined. "Besides, why bother with Megatron when the Prince of Vos is around? He's way more handsome."

"You take that back!" Shockwave gasped. "I'm the handsomest bot alive and you know it! You think the soldiers follow me because I'm a good general? Fool. Look at this chassis. This- this buys loyalty." He said as he gestured over his body. The two mechs both broke into laughter. 

Starscream, much to his own surprise, laughed with them. He was hardly the type to bother with engex— a millennia of waiting on a sword in the back from the council would do that to a mech. So if he wasn't terribly great at holding his drinks after he finally got the chance, well, he couldn't be blamed, could he?

But now, with Megatron's large frame sitting so close to his own that he could hear the pleased rumble of his engines as Orion cracked another joke, he found himself tipping back the rest of his glass like it was going to be his last.

"So, Lord Starscream," Orion said, "Forgive me if I'm being too direct, but when do you plan on inviting me over so I can leave this disaster behind and conjunx you before Megs gets around to it? I mean, come on, Megs," he gestured. "He's hotter than a supernova. He's a great fighter. Did you see when he rammed that one councilor right out of the sky?"

Starscream's turbines clicked on as his field ruffled with embarrassment. Whether from the engex or the praise, he couldn't tell. Both Orion and his conjunx were attractive, but the thought —the implication— of being Megatron's conjunx was more than a little thrilling for some reason he couldn't place.

"Well, well, what you don't know, Pax, is that Starscream here used to come to the pit shows in Kaon." Megatron said. 

To Starscream, he sounded suspiciously sober. 

"I knew about him from long before the Silver War, even." The gladiator continued.

"No, I knew about that," Orion slurred. "You guys talk about the pits all the time."

"But did you know that he is the one who killed Harness? My old slavemaster?" He said. 

"You knew about that?" Starscream asked in as much sober alarm as he could muster. 

The gladiatorial pits of Kaon were, before the war, the one place mechs could go to escape. Literally. 

Ex-knights, runaway slaves, swindlers, addicts, out-of-daters. They all ran away to Kaon to fight for their lives, for freedom, or glory, or whatever the hell else it was they wanted. The Council tended to avoid enforcement as long as a good profit was involved— and it always was.

Starscream remembered how he and his trine would sneak through the Tarnish border whenever the Council had been summoned to Iacon. He remembered the gory battles fought between desperate mechs as sponsors betted on them throughout the night. 

He should remember. He might have sponsored quite a few fights himself. 

But that's not how he met Megatron.

He remembered making that deal with Harness; he was purchasing a small shipment of armor attachments to do some code-breaking modifications. 

Harness had been a cretin, a thief, and a fool; He was a notoriously brutal slave catcher. He had managed to recapture quite a few mechs that night that, as Starscream had come to learn, had only recently belonged to a certain Senator named Sentinel Prime. 

One of them was a large mining bot that Starscream had vaguely remembered fighting in the ring a few days before. He had given a speech against the council after the fight.

Starscream almost pitied the mech; he was an excellent fighter, but the council probably wouldn't let him live for long with talk like that. It didn't surprise him that he'd been caught so quickly. 

But Harness's mistake, and Sentinel's by proxy, had been trying to cheat Starscream out of his part of the deal. 

Starscream had planned to kill Harness anyway, of course, but something had convinced him to do more. He wanted to humiliate Sentinel. He wanted to humiliate the Council. His optics wandered to the mechs locked in cages. 

He would always be a prisoner, but these mechs… well, their freedom would hurt the council. 

He pulled his sword from Harness's corpse and looted the keys off his frame before tossing them into the gladiator's cell. Without a word, Starscream took his mods and left. 

The way he saw it, the mech would either smarten up and close his mouth, or he would prove his use as thorn in Sentinel's side. Either would inconvenience the senate and improve Starscream's day.

The mech, of course, had doubled down. It was delightful. The fact that he was the best fighter that Kaon had ever seen was just the icing on the cake.

So when the rebellion began in earnest and news of some simple Tarnish miner reached his audials, Starscream took a chance to meet with the mysterious figure behind the movement. 

It was the mech who had begun to warm Cybertron with his vision of a bright future. The champion of the ring who wielded a sword that no mech had any business being able to lift, especially not with just a single arm. 

His name was Megatron, and he was the very same mech he had freed from Harness.

Starscream had joined him, of course. Megatron didn't care if he wanted freedom or revenge or violence or maybe a little of all of the above, and so he offered what he could. Vos joined with the allied Autobot-Decepticon rebellion and put its future into Megatron's battle-scarred servos. And he had won. 

And now Starscream was drunk beside him, charged out of his mind in the hopes that maybe Megatron would spend a season or two with him in Vos.

"So you did remember me?" Starscream said, suddenly growing irritated as the memories faded into the present. "Why did you never say anything?" 

"I didn't realize, at first. You were disguised in a cloak when you met with Harness." He shrugged. "Besides, even when I realized, I had no way of knowing whether or not the rebellion would succeed. You were, at the time, a resource, albeit one that I couldn't entirely trust. I could never tell whether you were preparing to help me or going to stab me in the back. I couldn't risk any more shadowplay."

"I should have stabbed you." Starscream grumbled. "It took you three years to win the war. I could have done it in three cycles. Let's see if I remember you next time we meet, Lord Megatron." He winced. Windblade was absolutely going to kill him if Megatron took offense to what he said, but he'd be damned before he apologized. It was hardly the worst thing he'd said to the mech. It was hard to control your temper while a war was going on.

"I didn't forget you, Starscream. I don't think anybody could." He said a little more softly. A strange sensation ran up Starscream's struts. Megatron's field was pressed comfortably against his own, radiating sincerity. Remembrance. Appreciation. And something much more interesting that his own field reached for before Lord Shockwave interrupted them. 

"So, Lord Starscream, Lady Windblade has been sending some correspondences to me for a while." He said. 

"Has she now?" Starscream grimaced, almost disappointed when Megatron's field reluctantly retreated from his own. 

"Yes. She says you're something of a scientist, and a remarkable one at that. Perhaps we could work together sometime? She mentioned that you were interested in my research and forwarded me some of your own. I must say, I'm impressed. I'm trying to see about getting the academy restarted, so maybe there'll be room for a few Vosians to come teach us a thing or two."

"I'll be sure to inform Windblade so she can spread the word. Perhaps we can compare notes sometime." Starscream offered, pleased for the change of topic and always a glutton for praise. "I do remember coming across some of your star charts in my own library. I decreased the drag on my own wings by 2% by redirecting the air flow as one of your equations demonstrated. I'm surprised a non-Vosian such as yourself has such knowledge of aerodynamics."

The two scientists became absorbed in their drunken chatting for hours, even as the other guests began to retire to their rooms. Finally, Orion slipped into stasis a little too quickly and his head fell directly onto the table with a loud crack. The three other leaders laughed as the intrepid blue knight didn't even react.

"Well, my lords, it's been a pleasure, but I think I should take my charming fiancé up to bed," he said, staggering to lift Orion bridal style. He wobbled a few feet away, nearly dropping Orion onto the floor and bumping him into several walls before gathering him back in his arms and stumbling down the guest wing to their quarters while a nervous servant desperately tried to help him.

"I'm afraid we're the last ones left, Lord Starscream. May I walk you to your room?" Megatron asked politely, holding out a hand to help Starscream steady himself.

"If you wish," Starscream replied, accepting the help against the small surge of his own prideful instincts. 

The two began to climb the large tall staircase that led to the upper wings where Starscream's suite was. Starscream knew he was still under the effects of the engex when he began to speak a little too honestly than he would like and found he couldn't stop. 

"You could have visited me, you know. Any time. After the whole, you know, war. Wars." Starscream said. "I miss our wartime chats. You giving stupid orders, me doing all the hard work." He complained. "Now I have to do it all. Don't get me wrong, I do it well, but I do miss letting you get to take the blame."

"I don't think they would have let me into Vos before the war," Megatron chuckled. "I don't think you would have let me in. Not that I would have blamed you. I wasn't exactly polite company."

"Well, nice to know that nothing has changed. You and that Orion Pax! Why he was chosen to wield the Matrix Blade, I'll never understand." Starscream huffed, wings flaring wide in frustration."The nerve! Flirting with me like some common pleasurebot! Right in front of his own conjunx-to-be!"

"I'm a commoner as well, Starscream," Megatron added, bemused. "And Orion was merely trying to get a rise out of you. Besides, he's far too enamored with his conjunx to do anything too unbecoming. But you, my dear little prince, can say nothing. General Shockwave was quite impressed by your knowledge of his research. If anything, I might say Orion has something to fear from you."

"As he should." Starscream said smugly, turning to face Megatron at the door to his suite. "I am a Prince and the head researcher of Vos, after all. Anyone who doesn't appreciate me and my abilities would be a fool."

"Fools indeed. But you should be careful, Starscream," Megatron growled, leaning down ever so slightly. The red of his optics illuminated the prince's shocked face in the dark hallway as he was backed against the door. "I don't like to share what's mine."

"Yours?" Starscream hissed, optics flaring back at him with crackling intensity as a dark thrill ran up his struts. "I don't belong to anyone, you oaf. Least of all a dirty mining bot that barely remembers how to clean the blood from his own plating!" 

Megatron simply smiled and backed away, hands raised in mock surrender even as Starscream's field poured out a mixture of dangerous longing. "As you say, Prince Starscream. I will leave you to your quarters. Oh, and it does seem you've missed a spot of polishing there." He gestured to Starscream's side. 

"What? I would never- where?!" He demanded angrily, turning to look at his side. Megatron quickly grabbed the seeker's face and gave him a chaste kiss, leaving the stunned mech in shock before he had a chance to use his seeker claws and do something he might regret


	3. Fight Or Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A demonstration leads to a challenge. 
> 
> The Tarnish just jumps right out of Megatron sometimes.

While many of the guests had begun to return to their home Kingdoms for the upcoming Lost Light celebrations, Lord Shockwave and his Conjunx decided to remain in Vos for the week to oversee the complete dismantling of the Cage.

The Cage of Vos was a grotesque monument to the Council's tyranny. It was a weave of energy and metal that kept the fliers from reaching more than a few hundred feet even without the restrictive curfews and regulations; it was a massive aviary that had trapped the fliers of Vos within the city-state for centuries. 

"I don't remember a time when the cage didn't exist." Windblade told Shockwave as they watched in awe as another of the towering metal beams was cradled to the earth by a large combiner and another layer of the energy mesh that had encased the city deactivated. "Some of the oldest fliers talk about being able to fly as high and as far as they wanted. I didn't think I'd ever see the day that we'd get there."

"Well, Lady Windblade," Lord Shockwave offered, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, "from this day forward, you and your people can fly wherever they want, whenever. The sky belongs to all of us now. Some of our engineers have already begun with construction on our Southern roads. We'll have functional infrastructure within a matter of weeks. Not that you'll have much need for them." 

"Thank you, Lord Shockwave. I'm sure Lord Starscream is grateful as well." She replied. 

"Speaking of, where is Lord Starscream?" Shockwave asked. "Now that I'm sober and not actively dying, I wanted to see if he would let me sneak a peek at his royal library."

"I believe he is currently receiving the new palace guard today. We only recently reinstated them and many have only just begun basic protocol training. If you care to follow me from the ground, I could lead you the training circuit?"

"Not at all," Shockwave said. "I could stand to learn a thing or two from Lord Starscream about running a kingdom. Please, lead the way, Lady Windblade."

Windblade transformed into her alt mode with a leap, taking off at a low speed as Shockwave followed from below. As they approached the lengthened airfield and flight arena known as the Circuit, they could hear faint sounds of rumbling jet engines cheering on a fight.

"Probably just the new guards sword training," Windblade commed him. "Vosians tend to use rapiers and smallswords for ground combat. Performance is a big part of Vosian culture." 

"I'm already willing to bet Orion and Megatron are there, too. They can't resist a good fight." He responded in amusement, transforming back into his knight form as Windblade landed beside him. Ahead of them was a crumbling mile-long stadium centered around a runway where fliers could freely launch and train. 

"The Circuit has been in disrepair for a long time. The Council used to hold shows for the people, but ever since Starscream's progenitor died, well… we haven't had a chance to come here."

"I'm sure your people will have it back together in no time. And you need only ask for help." He offered. "It's our history now, too." 

A loud cheer came from over the wall, both mechs speeding to a run as they approached a wide opening in the arched stone walls, following one of the wide passageways to the open runway. 

A colorful crowd of fliers were circled around a pair of mechs. As they approached, Shockwave could make out an amused Orion standing on the far side of the crowd with his arms crossed. 

Shockwave knew his conjunx-to-be like he knew every plate of his own armor. He recognized that look on Orion's face in an instant: It was one of his favorites, one that brought his spark a well of joy whenever he managed to draw it from the kind-hearted mech.

It was the look of someone who was being thoroughly entertained. 

"Whatever is happening, it should be good," he mused. The mechs politely moved through the crowd to the front, sidling up next to Orion Pax who tossed a glowing smile to his conjunx-to-be and pointed two servos, beckoning them to look toward the two fighters. 

Starscream was fencing against Megatron. 

"Oh, Primus," Windblade sighed, covering her face with her hands. "What is he doing?"

"Losing," Orion said gleefully.

—

Only an hour before, Starscream had arrived to the Circuit prepared to meet with the small legion of fliers that Windblade had selected to serve as the new Royal Vosian Guard. 

He had yet to meet all of them, and certainly didn't trust them, but Windblade always vetted the palace staff— the ones they were allowed to hire, anyway— with every protocol imaginable. At the very least, he could value the soundness of her judgement and the speed at which she had managed to restore the Palace to order.

The guards had already been well-equipped by the castle blacksmith, swords strapped to their waists and the Vosian insignias badged onto their wings. 

He was, oddly enough, proud to be standing in front of the mechs below. A few of them were soldiers who had served in both the war and aided the Decepticon cause in the rebellion. Some were civilians, only now reaching for opportunities that were once impossible to their castes.

All of them were older than him. He and his trine had been some of the last few seekers built during the Great War. The council had made sure to control the population far more aggressively after his creator's untimely demise. 

But that tyranny was over now. They were free. Starscream was free. 

But it didn't mean they were safe.

It hadn't slipped Starscream's mind that Lord Tyrest of the Kingdom of Luna had yet to respond to their call for alliance. He suspected, deep in his spark, that a storm was brewing, but until his spies could return with any solid proof, he couldn't make the first strike.

What he could do, however, was protect himself.

"I'm pleased that all of you have decided to serve me, the palace, and your people." He began, "From this day forward, you are each granted the title of Knight-Seeker in the Royal Vosian Guard. Each of you will be assigned a suite and private section in the royal hangar. You have been given your weapons and badges. You may see the blacksmith or quartermaster about any further equipment you need. Now," he continued. "it is my duty to pick one amongst you to serve as the Commander of the Kingsgaurd. I have chosen you, Ser Springer, on account of your feats, your loyalty, and your experience. Please, step forward if you accept this position."

"It would be an honor, your highness. I will protect you with my life." He answered with a bow.

"Excellent. You were once a member of the lower castes, correct?" He asked. 

"Er, yes, my Lord. I've lived in the Rust Belt area of Vos City for most of my life." Ser Springer answered. 

"You were forbidden from owning property? Taking a sparkmate?" Starscream pressed.

"Yes, my lord," Springer answered, confusion etched onto his face plates.

"Stand up, Ser Springer," he commanded, stepping down the arena and coming to stand in front of the large mech. 

"You are hereby granted the title of Knight-Commander. And, as a personal gift from the house of Vos, you are hereby granted ownership of the Northern Citadel, Lord Springer."

"I… thank you, your highness. Truly. I will do my best to protect you and the rest of Vos for the rest of my days. Till all are one." 

"Till all are one." Starscream replied, turning on his heels to address the other mechs. "Now, I'm well aware of all of your military exploits, your history, your abilities, but I also expect all of you to become stronger fighters with each passing day. Starting today, I will assign Lord Jetfire and Lady Windblade to monitor your training. They will see to all of your other scheduling needs. Lord Jetfire, I believe now is as good a time as any to begin the unarmed training." He said, motioning for the large flier to come forward. 

Jetfire had been his most trusted ally for as long as he could remember. He was, aside from Windblade, the closest thing to a friend as Starscream could reasonably possess. He was also an incredibly powerful fighter. 

Back on the arena steps, Starscream observed as Jetfire began to test the recruits. The mech was one of the most patient Starscream had ever known, but far too strong for his own good. He almost felt bad for the guards as they were tossed bodily across the field. 

"It's almost unfair, don't you think?" A deep voice hummed thoughtfully behind him. "He's twice their size."

Starscream stared dutifully at the fighters. He wouldn't give Megatron the satisfaction of riling him up after his uncouth behavior from the night before.

"Perhaps, but he's an excellent teacher. He won't just throw them around." Another seeker was thrown over Jetfire's head. "At least, not forever. Jetfire is the mech that taught me to fight without weapons. To use my speed and size to my advantage against larger mechs. He will whip them into shape soon enough."

"Is that so?"

Starscream could feel the gladiator's smirk without seeing it. He resisted the urge to power on his cooling vents as his frame heated from the mech's teasing, but he couldn't stop the irritated twitch of his right wing. He prayed Megatron hadn't noticed. 

The smirk had undoubtedly gotten larger.

"Yes, it is. But my, you were a gladiator yourself, weren't you? Why don't you go down there and show them how it's done, Lord Megatron?" He sneered, turning to cast a slag-eating look at the frustrating mech. He wasn't there.

Megatron was already leaping over the edge of the old arena and walking up to Jetfire. Starscream watched in shock as the two mechs exchanged words, shook hands, and then took up positions several meters across the from each other.

Starscream jetted back down to the field and pushed to the front of the crowd of guards as they backed away from the positioning mechs. 

Megatron and Jetfire each took a step, testing the others resolve for a moment. Jetfire dwarfed even Megatron, but the silver gladiator didn't seem a bit perturbed. He shifted his right leg but a fraction, and then they charged at each other, crashing into each others arms' as they grappled for control. Neither gave ground, pedes digging into dirt, engines revving against the strain in their arms. 

Jetfire powered up his right turbine, using the thrust to twist Megatron's left arm into his body and then tilted his massive frame downward to push them both to the ground. 

Megatron retaliated by using the strength of the movement against him, going momentarily lax so Jetfire slammed himself into dirt and Megatron had the upper hand. He pulled his right arm back and caught Jetfire in a strong uppercut. Jetfire used his rear thrusters to roll them around, getting in two good punches before Megatron managed to throw the bigger mech off. 

He barely had time to stand before another punch was clanged into his helm, then another, and another, until Megatron caught the jet's fist in his own large servos and yanked him close, reared his head back, and slammed his helm against Jetfire's in a spray of energon. Just like that, the fight was over. The huge winged mech went down like a stone, crumpling against Megatron. 

Megatron, who caught the large Knight in his arms and helped him limp over to the edge of the circus while a couple of guards went to retrieve a medic. 

Megatron, who made sure Jetfire was alright before the two shook hands again. 

Megatron, who had looked at Starscream with such an indiscernible expression that it drove him to challenge the giant ex-gladiator to a sword fight in front of his own guards just to get a reaction he could understand out of him. 

In hindsight, perhaps Windblade's warning voice in the back of his head would have been worth heeding.

Now he was doing his best to avoid the greatsword that threatened to cleave his wings from his frame with each swing. Megatron held the large blade in one hand, using a shield in the other to block the tentative thrusts of Starscream's own smallsword. 

The small pings of his sword bouncing off Megatron's own echoed across the field. He forgot about the guards, focusing only on the way that Megatron moved, searching for an opening that would cause the other to yield. He flicked his optics up to look at the silver mech's face. 

He was grinning. 

He had been smiling at the entire fight. 

"Will. You. Stop. That!" Starscream hissed, punctuating each word with a sharp thrust as Megatron avoided each stroke with ease. "Fight seriously!" He demanded. 

"Oh, but I am," he replied calmly. He wasn't even out of breath. "It's always easy to forget how fast you are. How capable. How deadly. Tell me, Starscream, when you and your brothers killed the council, how did it feel? The way they kept you locked up in that palace all those years. I wish I could have been there."

Starscream remembered the moment vividly. He could recall the sound of Three-of-Twelve's last breath as he plunged his sword into the bastard's chassis after years of torment. Thundercracker and Skywarp had finished off Two-of-Twelve and Nine-of-Twelve. The energon glowed brightly on their swords. 

Starscream came back to himself, tearing his mind from the memory as he landed a small slash on Megatron's mid-plate armor.

Finally, Starscream thought, that should wipe the smile off his face. 

He was wrong. 

Megatron looked positively feral now. He reached a hand down and rubbed at the energon bleeding from the fresh wound, pulling his hand away to see it on his servos. When he looked back at Starscream, his grin was wider than ever. His optics shined in the bright Cybertronian daylight as he began to fight harder, faster. Starscream could barely keep up. His smallsword rattled with each slide off Megatron's blade until, with an expert twist, his blade was thrown to the ground. Starscream jetted to the side, dodging Megatron's grasp and picking the sword up, spinning around and standing with a well-practiced turn as he heard the heavy steps from the mech behind him and-

His sword pierced the softer plating of Megatron's chassis just above his earlier cut. He let out a stuttering sound from his vocalizer as the crowd gasped. 

"M-M-Megatron, I'm sorry, I didn't mean..."

"Not bad, your highness." He said, grabbing the blade of the sword that Starscream couldn't bring himself to let go of. "I see you're still capable in your own right. But, one thing," he said, reaching both hands to grip the metal as he began to force the blade deeper into his body. Pushing himself closer to Starscream until he was pressed closely against the shocked mech.

The crowd let out a collective gasp, mech's crying out in disgust.

"Megatron, stop!"  
"What in Primus's name are you doing!?"  
"Oh, that's- oh pit I can't watch."

Megatron paid them no mind as he pulled the hilt of the sword, and Starscream's hands, flush against his own body. He leaned down to whisper into Starscream's audial: 

"Next time you want to fight me, just come straight to my room. I'll show you how we do it in Tarn." 

"Lord Megatron!" Lady Windblade called, finally pushing past the crowd and running up to the two huddled mechs. Orion, Lord Shockwave, and the medic who had helped Jetfire were right on her heels. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Lady Windblade." Megatron insisted, holding up a hand. With the other, he reached down and pulled the blade from his body. "It's a fine blade, but it's quite thin. Hitting anything short of my spark with a sword like this isn't going to do much lasting damage." He said, wincing as a splash of energon began to spill from the puncture. "Still, a small cube of medical grade energon and a quick weld-job would be appreciated, if you don't mind."

"Of course," Lady Windblade said, motioning for the medic to help him. 

Starscream watched as Orion and Lord Shockwave accompanied Megatron to the side of the arena, each being waved off as they attempted to help him walk. 

"Starscream, what is your problem?" Windblade hissed. "He could have hurt you! Worse, you could have hurt him!"

"No," Starscream said, turbines finally kicking on as he watched Megatron throw his helm back in laughter at one of Orion's jokes. "I couldn't have."

Windblade gave her Prince a quizzical look before they both received a notification ping from Thundercracker. 

The North section of the cage is finally down. Vos is waiting for the official 'okay', Screamer. 

Star looked at Windblade with a smile. A real smile. The first smile she had seen on the mech in a long, long time. He gave her a subtle nod. His wings trembled in excitement. 

Do it, Thundercracker. They pinged him in unison.

For a moment, there was silence. The clear blue of the sky belied no change. Then the rumble began. The earth-rattling sound of a thousand engines roaring to life throughout the city, taking to the skies for the first time in millennia. 

Some of them would be flying outside the small Kingdom of Vos for the first time in their lives. 

A wave of fliers zoomed overhead, blacking out the sky in flocks. Planes, jets, helicopters, spaceships, each blazing across the sky to taste the Cybertronian wind.

With one look to Windblade, and to his guards, all the fliers rocketed off the ground and into the sky to join the rest. 

Megatron committed that moment- that smile- to his memory as he watched the seeker and his trine take the head of the fliers in the bright Cybertronian sky.

×

It was a beautiful evening in Vos as Orion and Shockwave sat together on their suite patio. The city-state had managed to escape some of the colder Winter weather that was going to be easing into Iacon just in time for the Lost Light Festival. 

"Do you really think it was smart to leave Rodimus behind?" Orion asked. 

"I know you're worried about him, sweetspark, but Rodimus can take care of himself. I'm more worried about Thunderclash. I wish we could have introduced them before we left." Shockwave answered. He reached his hand over to Orion's and meshed their servos together. "But I think they'll be okay. I'm glad I told him to prep up for the fliers. By the looks of today, Iacon is about to get swamped."

Orion squeezed his lovers hand before bringing it to his lips in a kiss. 

"I did finally figure out the mech that Drift's been holding a candle for."

"No way!" Shockwave gasped. "Who is it? You invited them to the Palace, right?"

"Yup," Orion smiled. "I invited them in person."

"Who is it? Tell me, tell me, tell me, please, 'Rion?"

"It's Ratchet."

"You're pulling my leg." Shockwave frowned, but it quickly turned into a huge smile. "No! You're right! It's perfect!"

"Drift referred to him as 'Ratty.'"

"Pit!" Shockwave cursed. "We're missing that?! Why do I always miss the good stuff?"


	4. The Lost Light Festival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodimus and Drift experience their first Lost Light Festival.
> 
> Thunderclash tries to keep cool.

"Roddy?" Drift called softly, peeking out of their shared room and into the dim halls of the Iaconian Palace for his amica.

"Roddy? Where are you?" He whispered.

"Heya, Drift." Came a voice from above that nearly caused Drift to jump out of his frame. "Just went to look around. We didn't get to see much of the party stuff yesterday but it's crazy, Drifter! Nyon never had anything like this!"

"Orion said to behave while they're away, remember?" Drift responded. "Come out of… wherever you are and get back to recharging. We can check out all the decorations in the morning."

"You're just mad that I didn't bring you along."

Drift grumbled as he closed the bedroom door.

"Knew it." The laughter he heard was, he noticed with a start, right behind him. He spun around with a hand reflexively moving to where the hilts of his twin swords normally were.

"How did you do that?" Drift asked, looking around as he tried to figure out where Rodimus had come from.

"Skids has been teaching me how to sneak around the castle. Well, I kept following him, and he told me that if I was going to do it, I may as well be good at it."

"Roddy, you know Shockwave doesn't want us causing trouble. We're supposed to keep everything together while they're gone." Drift reprimanded as he pushed both of them back towards the berth.

"Relax, Drift. I was just looking around." He sighed, turning heel to throw himself down onto the berth. "It's so damn quiet. I thought Iaconion nobles were supposed to be loud, and, I don't know, exciting. Parties. Engex. Yay." He pantomimed, hands waving in the air above his head. "Did you see that big knight Orion put in charge? Thunder-whats-it? Thunderhead?"

"Ser Thunderclash?" Drift answered, climbing into the berth beside his amica.

"Yeah! That's the one. The way everyone oo'd and ah'd when he came in, you'd think he was one of the fraggin' councilors or something."

"He was a war hero, I think," Drift yawned, curling up next to Rodimus. "Primus, you're so warm. Shut up and just be warm, Roddy."

"Fine, fine, I'll sleep. They better hurry up and bring back some presents from Vos. Shockwave says they have the best energon candies in Cybertron."

"Mm-hm," Drift hummed in agreeance. 

"Ughhhhhhhhh," Rodimus sighed in complaint. "Okay, Drift. You win." He said. "But you have to help me steal some of that holiday engex in the morning."

"Deal." Drift mumbled, pulling Rodimus closer. "G'night, Roddy." 

"Night, Drift." He answered, then, after a pause: "You, too, Skids."

"Night, fellas." Came another voice from the ceiling.

Drift was going to have a talk with Skids about his hobbies. 

— 

The next morning, sometime before daylight, the two mechs travelled to Rivet's Field just outside the city walls to get a better view of the decorations.

Where Vosian architecture had vaulted ceilings, delicately carved inlays, and ornate glasswork, Iacon had sheer size and scale, both exemplified by the Celestial Spires and the Golden Palace.

The three towers known as the Celestial Spires were regarded as sacred to many Cybertronians. All of the Empire's history and religion, all of their records and texts, and all of their scientific research was contained within one of the three towers. Once, the Towers were the home of the Council members that resided in Iacon.

Now, like the rest of Cybertron, they were being redesignated for more public use. Shockwave had decided to allow them to be turned into the Academy of Cybertron. Scholars were free to enter the towers as they pleased, and mechs of all backgrounds and ages were encouraged to attend. 

The Golden Palace that rose above the rest of the city, on the other hand, was now home to Lord Shockwave and his conjunx-to-be, in addition to a large number of Nyonian refugees and visiting dignitaries from the other Kingdoms. 

But today, there were more guests than ever before. 

It was the first day of the Lost Light Festival, a traditional Iaconian week long celebration that welcomed the beginnings of a new year with feasts, charity, gifts, music, and enjoyment. 

Orion had mentioned Thunders a few times, of course, and he'd heard the rumors about the greatest Knight-who-ever-lived, but they didn't interest him any more than all the other high-spun fics that rich noble mechs told about themselves. He couldn't care less about them at all. Nobles were always the Council's puppets— now they were just rich mechs with nobody left arounf to pull the strings.

Shockwave and Orion were different. Orion was there when Nyon burned. Shockwave had sent him, fought for the refugees to be brought into Iacon proper. Kup was… well, Kup had always been different. 

But where were the other Lords when Nyon had needed them? Where was the Senate? Where was Thunderclash? It was a tad unfair to blame the mech, but he couldn't shake his anger at the mech. He was probably just another rich slagger who sat in his mansion with his thumb up his aft while Nyon was burning.

But as he sat in the middle of the snow-covered field outside Iacon City, Rodimus supposed he had to give the mech some credit- he could organize a party.

The golden domed roof of the aptly-named Golden Palace always had a gleam to it, but now with brightly painted windows it glowed in the far-reaching rays of early sunlight. The gardens were laced with bright flowers of every color, the tallest trees wrapped in intricately laced paper patterns. Streamers and flags floated from the palace spires like leaves in the wind. The growing sounds of happy music from the waking royal city hummed through the earth below their feet. Buildings were painted in bright beautiful glyphs that came to life with every new ounce of light.

"Anything like the Crystal City, Drift?" Rodimus asked the white swordsmech, who was kneeling in the snow beside him.

"Better. Far better. The Crystal City was beautiful, but it was a place of quiet and meditation. Iacon… it's always so alive." Drift answered. His optics snapped upward. "Did you sense that?" He asked. 

"Uh, no? You alright there, buddy?"

There was an audible rumble in the ground, quiet at first, and then louder and louder.

"Uh… it's a bit early for the music to be getting that loud, isn't it?" Roddy asked, getting to his feet. 

"It's not the music," Drift said. "It's fliers." He looked up to the Southern sky behind them, towards the border with Vos. 

A wave of alts roared overhead; A dozen winged fliers shot through the air as they soared over the palace in wide circles.

"I've never seen so many fliers," Roddy shouted over the sound of the turbines. 

"Guess we know they got the cage down!" Drift answered. 

They looked at each other with a smile, then back up to the fliers. For some reason, the fliers were beginning to drop in altitude. Quickly, too.

They looked back to each other, then back upwards.

They were getting lower now. In the distance, Rodimus could make out a few fliers beginning to make low passes on a flat area of the plains.

"Uh… We should probably go!" Drift called out to Rodimus. 

A flier roared right over their heads, landing gear only a few feet above the tips of their finials. 

"Yep," Rodimus responded, already transforming.

Both speedsters raced out of the field as fliers began to land in droves. 

"Last one back to the palace has to fetch the engex!" Roddy teased. 

First one back gets to choose who the other dances with tonight, Drift retorted. 

The race had never been closer.

—

Thunderclash was glad that Shockwave had told him to anticipate the sudden arrival of several hundred visiting fliers once the cage was down. He had only just overseen the completion of the preparations for the new guests when he heard the rumblings of jet engines and propellers in the distance.. 

"That'll be the fliers," Lord Wheeljack supplied with a yawn. "Me an' Velocity can go welcome them in, if you want."

"You two only got back yesterday morning, Wheeljack. Why don't you get some rest?" Thunderclash replied. "You too, Lotty. I appreciate both of your help. Primus knows how I'd manage today if you two hadn't been here."

He ushered the two mechs upstairs to their rooms to their weak complaint. They assured him that they would return in a few hours as they stumbled to their rooms.

"Lord Thunderclash!" A servant called as he made his way to the Palace kitchen. He recognized the minibot servant as a mech named Swerve. "Thanks again for letting me work drinks today! I promise I'll be a good barkeep."

"No trouble at all, Swerve. You'll do a fine job, my friend, I'm sure." He smiled, giving the little mech a gentle pat on the back.

Before he could ask why the mech looked like he was about to cry, a flash of white and a flash of orange crashed into them both, sending all four of them to the castle floor.

"Sorry!" The white one said. He jumped up and reached down to help Thunderclash back onto his feet.

"My bad!" Said the orange one. "Sorry, Swerve." He added sheepishly as he helped the dazed minibot back up and watched guiltily as the little red mech waddled away.

"It's alright, no harm done." Thunderclash responded. "Is everything alright?"

"We just saw a whole fleet of fliers arrive!" The white mech said excitedly. "They landed in the Southern fieeelllddd," the mech slowed his speech to a slur, pausing as he examined the large mech before them. His optics brightened in realization. "Oh! You're Lord Thunderclash, aren't you? I, I mean, we're sorry about a moment ago, ser." He said, flourishing a well-practiced bow. 

"That's not necessary, really, it's fine." Thunderclash said, embarrassed by the mech's display. He never liked when others treated him like he was above any other mech.

The white mech reached over and grabbed his orange friend, forcing him into a bow beside him. When they stood back up, Thunderclash was struck by how gorgeous the orange mech in front of him was. He was well-built, colorful, and had matrix-blue eyes that matched the lovely blue bow strapped across his pleasantly angular chassis.

The orange mech raised a brow ridge in disdain. 

Thunderclash cleared his throat in apology and bowed in return. He had never got distracted by such rude thoughts before, and he certainly wouldn't start now.

"Like I said, no harm done. And please, just Thunderclash is fine. Are you two visiting the Palace for the festivities? I must go greet the fliers, but I have a few minutes. Perhaps I could help you find what you are looking for?"

"No, no, we're guests of Lord Shockwave and Ser Orion." Drift answered. "I'm Drift of Rodion, and this is Rodimus. We heard you were in charge of the festival preparations, but we've been busy working with the refugees. I'm sorry we didn't meet you sooner." 

"Ah! So you are Ser Pax's young friends!" He beamed. "I'm glad to finally meet you." He offered his hand out to the mechs. Both returned the gesture of his handshake.

He couldn't help the small jump in his spark when Rodimus's servos slid hesitantly against his own. 

"Please, enjoy the festivities and feel free to come find me should you need anything. Any friends of Ser Pax's are friends of mine." He paused for a second, then added, "Perhaps you two might like to join me at the ball this evening? Not that I want to take you away from any of tonight's festivities, of course."

The two mechs exchanged a quick look, biolights gently fluxing as they exchanged thoughts. Thunderclash realized the two mechs were probably amica endura and he hoped he hadn't intruded upon any of their plans.

Drift turned back to him with a victorious grin before he could apologize for his forwardness. "Sure, Thunderclash, we'd love to come." He said. 

"Excellent! I'll meet you in the northern section of the ballroom at, let's say, 8p.m.? If that's acceptable to you, of course."

"...Fine. We'll see you then, Clash." Rodimus said. "But before we go, would you happen to know where we could find some of that spiced engex before tonight? I've never tried it." He added, looking up at Thunderclash with wide, bright optics. "I've always wanted to."

Thunderclash felt, for some reason, that his spark was in terrible danger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be editing as I go along. Thanks for reading (and tolerating me) so far!


	5. The Winter's Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodimus shares a dance with Thunderclash and Warp steals a kiss from Wheeljack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the re-upload. I decided to do some heavier editing and it warranted a small rewrite of this chapter.

When the faint Winter sun of the day began to fade and the cold air of night finally crept in with a soft snow, Thunderclash took one last moment to watch the fireworks dance under and through the clouds over Iacon City. 

The first day of the Lost Light Festival had come to a close, and it was time for the first night of the week's celebrations: 

The Winter's Dance. 

The dance was the first major event of the festival, traditionally held on the first night of the new year. 

When it was held by the council, only high casters were allowed to attend the events within the palace itself, while low casters were restricted to the outer gardens. 

Now, with Thunderclash's careful planning and the support of the castle staff, the entirety of the Palace was available to all. Mechs from Iacon, Tarn, Helex, Nyon, and now even fliers from Vos had come to attend the celebrations. 

With Wheeljack, Velocity, and Skids finally shooing Thunderclash away from the palace kitchen and demanded he partake in the festivities, the large colorful mech found that it was nearly time to meet up with Ser Pax's young wards. 

He found an empty table, snagged a few mugs of spiced engex from Swerve, and managed to steal away a plate of energon treats to snack on while he waited. 

It didn't take long. Rodimus and Drift arrived a few minutes after 8, weaving through the crowd. Thunderclash was, much to his own amusement, glad that the colors of his paint were quite contrasting. When combined with the size of his armor, it made him an easy mech to find in a crowd.

"Lord Thunderclash! Sorry we're a bit late. The crowd is unbelievable!" Drift stated, pulling into the chair opposite him as Rodimus slid in beside him. 

"Isn't it wonderful?" Thunderclash beamed. "Even in Caminus, we had nothing like this. It warms my spark to see everyone here together. Oh!" He exclaimed, pushing the drinks across the table to the two mechs. "I'm sorry I couldn't get any before now, Rodimus, but I did manage to grab us some of that spiced engex. Care to toast to a New Year?" He asked and passed the mugs to the mechs as they sat.

"To Iacon!" He started, raising his mug.

"To Cybertron!" Drift added, raising his own. 

"To Nyon." Rodimus finished. "Till all are one!" 

They tapped their mugs together and brought them to their lips to taste the sweet, frothy engex. 

Thunderclash watched the handsome orange speedster drink tentatively at first, then throwing his helm back with gusto. He slammed the mug into the table and looked between the two mechs with excitement. 

"Drift! This is amazing! Why don't they serve this all year?"

"It's seasonal for a reason," Drift started. "The spices-"

"Who cares!" Rodimus interrupted. "I'm going to need about 20 refills. Actually, Thunders, are there any bigger cups?" 

"Unfortunately, no," Thunderclash sighed. "There was only enough made for the functionist's guests, so we decided to use smaller cups to allow everyone to get a chance to try the engex this year. My apologies."

Rodimus sat back down with a dramatic sigh. 

"Here," Thunderclash offered, passing the rest of his mug to Rodimus. "I'm supposed to limit my engex anyway. Doctor's orders." 

"You mean it?" Rodimus asked, optics brightening in that spark-stopping way again.

"Of course." He assured the mech with a smile.

"Take mine, too," Drift offered.

The smile he got in return- a small, honest curl of Rodimus's lips- caused the fans in his chest to kick on quite loudly at the same time as a small yellow mech dropped between the two speedsters. 

Thunderclash had never been more grateful for an interruption. 

"Hey, guys," the young squire began, "the dancing is about to start. Got your partners yet?" The small mech leaned in closer to whisper, "Someone please be my partner. One of those big blue seekers from Vos has been following me around since this morning and it's starting to freak me out."

"Come on, Bumblebee, maybe he likes you." Rodimus teased. 

"He looks like he wants to rip my head off!" Bee complained. 

"I hear that's just how seekers express their affections." Drift retorted. 

"Well, you won't get any help from me," Drift stated. "I'm looking for someone."

"And I've already got a partner." Rodimus laughed. "Looks like you're on your own, Bee." 

Thunderclash wanted to ask who Rodimus's partner was, and possibly share a few words with them, but then Rodimus was standing right in front of him with his servos extended. 

"Come on, Clash. I lost a bet this morning."

Thunderclash wanted to feel a little hurt at that, but the good-natured smile on Rodimus's face convinced him to take Rodimus's hand instead. He followed him to the dance floor where the guests were gathering for the first dance. 

"Sorry," Rodimus said sheepishly as an old Calaisian Suite began to play. "I don't really know any ballroom dances. I could never get the hang of 'em."

"Don't worry. Just follow my lead," Thunderclash said. He placed one hand on the shorter mechs back and raised the other to guide him. "It's a simple four step. Together, now back, together, and back… excellent!" He smiled as the mech copied his movements in reverse. "You're a natural, Rodimus."

"I'll take your word for it." He laughed. "You're not so bad yourself, Clash. Usually guys your size would have stepped all over me by now." 

The two mechs danced together for some time, enjoying the sound of the music and the life of the party while they chatted. Thunderclash couldn't contain his curiosity any longer.

"Rodimus, if I may ask, how did you come to meet Ser Pax? From what I understand, you met him in Nyon, did you not?" 

Rodimus bristled at the question, faltering for a full step. 

"I understand if you don't want to speak about it." He quickly added. "I remember feeling the same when Caminus was destroyed, and that was a long time ago."

"I heard you nearly died there," Rodimus asked him as he looked back up the mech. "Sword to the spark?"

"Yes," Thunderclash sighed, remembering with great clarity the hole the sword in his chest. The feeling of his innermost energon gushing out of his chest and across the rented metal blossoming across his chassis. "By all accounts, I should have died. If not for Velocity and her team, I certainly would have."

"Sorry," Rodimus said softly. 

"What for? You are far too young to remember much about Caminus. I survived. My people survived. That's all I can ask for."

Rodimus went silent; his optics were downcast as he moved to pull his hands away. Before Thunderclash could ask what was wrong, two young mechs sidled up beside him. 

"Roddy! Roddy! Isn't it amazing?" The first one cheered. 

"Yeah! I met Lord Wheeljack and one of the big fliers! He said he was a prince!" The second said. 

Thunderclash watched in surprise as the two young mechs chatted Rodimus's audials off before the first one wheeled onto him. 

"Are you really Thunderclash? Are you a lord? Do you own a castle? Why is your paint mismatched?" The young mecha asked, all of her questions coming out at lightspeed. 

"Um," was the only answer he could muster.

"Alright, you two, knock it off. Go find Drift and see if he's found his dreamboat or some healing crystals or something." Rodimus chided. The two mechs ran off in delight.

"Friends of yours?" He asked. 

"Some of the refugees from Nyon," Rodimus answered before turning away. "It was nice dancing with you, 'Clash. We'll have to do it again sometime." 

"I'd love to," he answered immediately. The smile that Rodimus gave him was just as beautiful as all the ones before, but Thunderclash knew pain when he saw it. 

"Feel free to come find me whenever you wish, Rodimus. I look forward to seeing you again."

The orange and red mech laughed in disbelief as he walked away. "Night, Thunders!" He called back. 

×

Wheeljack didn't know what he'd done to deserve the purple flier's undivided attention, but he couldn't decide whether he owed someone an apology or a knock on the helm. He had been following him around the Palace Festival for a few hours now. 

It wasn't that the purple seeker was annoying. Wheeljack was pretty used to the hustle-and-bustle of the Castle after a month of young bots flooding into his workshop to see what he was up to. 

He couldn't say anything; him and Ratchet used to get into all kinds of trouble when they were younger. A few eager-to-learn sparks were hardly troublesome as long as they kept their servos away from his forge. 

No, the problem was that Skywarp was a terrible flirt. 

And okay, maybe he did know why the purple mech was all over him. 

°

It all started when they'd met about a year ago, just as Shockwave, Pax, and Megatron had their first major victory against the Council at the rural Southwestern border of Iacon. The ground battle was won after two days. The dogfights lasted for another two.

The flier he would come to know as Skywarp had crashed directly into his house with one of the Triorian Guard, who apparently hadn't deemed to follow the Council's order to retreat, and the impact of both of them knocked Wheeljack right into the wall.

The Council had evacuated the city the night before the battle. Anyone who stayed behind was labeled a traitor to the state. Wheeljack was one of the few who did— not that he held it against any of the bots who fled. They had all seen first-hand what the Council did to those who disobeyed. If Wheeljack had a family to worry about, he would've left, too. 

Still, nobody anticipated that the rebels might actually win. Wheeljack couldn't say he wasn't happy with the outcome, but he probably would have been happier if the last two fighting mechs in the city hadn't landed right on top of him. 

"You'll die today, traitor." The guard grumbled as he got back to his feet. "You think the Council called us to retreat? You're a fool. You're all fools. You're just lucky I'm going to save you from the death that's coming for your friends." The triple changer pulled his sword from its sheath and began to stalk towards the downed purple flier. 

"Hey, leave him alone!" Wheeljack coughed, cycling the dust out of his vents. He reached his arm into the rubble to his right. His sword had to have fallen into the rubble.

"Ah, Wheeljack, I always knew you were trouble." The guard responded, turning towards the speedster as he struggled to his feet. "You've been on the Council's list for a while now. I knew we should have taken you with the rest of the empuratas."

"Shame you didn't." Wheeljack coughed. "I hear the court wizard is great at fixing up new heads. Mine could use some work."

"Then here," the guard sneered, raising his sword above Wheeljack. "Allow me to help you with a new look!" 

He swung his blade down, but only clanged against the stone of the floor. Wheeljack was gone.

"How did you- guh!" He spoke as Wheeljack's sword pierced the center of his spark chamber. He clawed weakly at his chest for a moment before the color faded from his frame.

Wheeljack pulled his sword from the mech's back and dropped it to the ground before he stepped over the other flier with Decepticon badges in his wings.

"Hey, winghead, you okay?" He asked the mech. He knocked on the flier's leg.

The purple seeker groaned pitifully in response. 

"I'll take that as a probably not. Listen, I'm like, the only guy left out here. Where's your medic at? Will I get shot if I carry you back to your camp?"

The flier didn't respond. He was out cold. 

"Great."

He bent down to lift up the mech, relieved that the seekers' aviation frame was a good bit lighter than his own. 

He carried the mech outside and wove through the empty streets of his town and into the forest outside the border gates. 

The mech was beginning to feel a little cool to the touch. He kept walking, going deeper into the trees in the direction he had seen the fliers come in that morning. 

It was still an hour before he came across a patrol of Decepticon soldiers. A red mech broke apart from the patrol and ran up to him, called himself Knockout. He had another larger mech named Breakdown pick up the bot- who they called Prince Skywarp- and brought both of them back to the Alliance camp. 

He parted ways with the amiable patrol as they carried the unconscious seeker to the medical tents and another bot led him to speak to some of the Command. He hoped the mech would be alright. He didn't want him to end up like the guard. 

Inside the command tent were two bots who looked just like Skywarp. They were arguing heatedly with another mech. 

It didn't take a genius to recognize Orion Pax when he saw him.

The bot who led him into the tent had him wait at the entrance as he went up and said something to the two fliers. They immediately stood and rushed past him and out of the tent. One of them, the shorter red one, turned to look at him as he passed. The look only lasted a moment, and the two fliers were gone.

"Sorry about that. Those were the Princes of Vos, Thundercracker and Starscream. We've been looking for their Sparkbrother for hours. Prince Skywarp disappeared after getting chased off by a Triorian. Sounds like we have you to thank." The mech said, shaking his hand. "But that doesn't explain how you came across him. Would you mind giving me the full story?"

"Not at all," Wheeljack replied. "Then we can talk about improving your armory. Your swords are half rust already. Show me your forge an' maybe I can lend you a hand."

°

He didn't expect that his little act would have earned Warp's undivided attention every time they were near each other.

Warp was… well, he was Warp. He had a concerning lack of common sense, a knack for causing trouble, and the same sense of haughtiness as his sparkbrother Starscream. He was also unflinchingly loyal, stupidly funny, and devilishly handsome. 

If only Wheeljack hadn't let that last part slip after a little too much engex. He'd always harbored a soft spot for the purple idiot and, secretly, he kind of liked the attention. Everyone surrounded him for his weapons, his blacksmithing, his reputation, but Skywarp just seemed interested in… him. It was nice. 

But now, after a few bottles of engex and three uncoordinated dances later found them wandering through the Palace gardens, Skywarp had become absolutely salacious.

"So, uh, it's a pretty cold night, Warp. I heard that's rough on you flying types. I've been working on some new armor types that might help with that." Wheeljack offered, once again trying to peel the purple mech's gorgeous hands from his hips. "Listen, why don't we go find someplace warm to sit down? Maybe get something to eat?"

"Whatcha say me an' you find a nice place to recharge instead, Jackie? Then maybe we could eat each other," the jet purred. 

"Listen, Warp, I meant what I said, but I don't think now is a good time, okay?" Wheeljack responded with a frustrated sigh. 

"Come on, Jackie. You think I'm handsome. I think you're handsome. Pleaseeee?" He whined. 

"First of all, your drunk off your aft. Secondly, all this teasing is kind of getting on my nerves. I told ya you were handsome and I meant it. You don't gotta make fun of me for it. "

"Wait, what?" Warp answered, looking confused. "Teasing?"

"Well, yeah. Look at me, Warp. I'm one bad welt-job away from being in a scrap heap." He laughed.

"Wh- you- I mean all of it, you idiot! Are you kidding me? You thought I've been asking you to frag my brains out all this time as a joke?"

"Uh… yes?" Wheeljack answered weakly.

Skywarp stared at him dumbly for a minute before grabbing him by his fins and pulling him close. 

"Open your slaggin' mask." He ordered. 

Wheeljack let the armor of his faceplates slide slowly away, feeling the burn of cold air against his scarred cheeks. 

"See, I'm-" 

He forgot how to speak when Warp's lips met his.

Warp pulled away with a smile. "You're the best lookin' mech in Iacon, ya know that? I'm a Prince. I would know."

"Warp… I know you think you like me, but there's a hundred better mechs out there for you. I'm just a blacksmith."

"Damnit, Wheeljack!" He growled. "I'm a grown mech. You think I can't tell when I'm in love? You think I can't tell that you like me back? Pit frag it!" He shouted.

Skywarp's frame began to flicker, but the mech didn't seem to notice. 

He grabbed Wheeljack by the shoulders and looked him in the optics. "I don't care what you think about yourself. You're a good mech, you treat me like an individual, you listen to me everytime I talk and you somehow put up with me like no one ever has."

"Uh, Warp, your frame…" Wheeljack tried to interrupt. 

"Let me finish!"

"Warp…" he tried again.

"No, yeah, okay. That was it. I love you, Wheeljack. I haven't been able to get you outta my head since I landed on top of you. I really want to do that again, by the way. Be on you, that is. Not crash."

"Frag it, Warp! Look at yourself! You're blinking like a ghost!" Wheeljack finally shouted. 

"Hm?" He asked dumbfounded. He looked at his hands. They were half-phased into Wheeljack's shoulders. "Slag! Sorry, Jackie!" He yelped as he pulled his hands away. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No, but how did you do that? What's going on with your frame?" Wheeljack asked. Skywarp noticed that Wheeljack's earlier hesitation had been entirely replaced by his voracious curiosity. He loved that about the mech. 

Now Wheeljack was examining Warp's frame closely, poking and prodding as he flickered in and out of tangibility. His hands were gentle but persistent. Warp loved that, too. 

"Me an' Cracker are both outliers." He answered. The Council had repressors put on us when we were young, but mine has always been a bit fritzed. It… happens when I get emotional."

"Does it hurt?" Wheeljack asked.

"Sometimes," Skywarp answered sadly. 

"Hmm…" Wheeljack hummed thoughtfully, "I've always wanted to try my hand at taking one out. Mind if I get a closer look? Maybe we can figure out a way to turn it off."

"Now you want to get under my plates, Jackie? All you had to do was ask." 

Wheeljack hadn't seemed to hear him. 

Skywarp sighed. It was a step forward, at least. 

×

Thundercracker, meanwhile, had no such luck with Bumblebee. 

The little yellow mech seemed downright terrified of him, and yeah, that kind of hurt, but he could take a message. He knew that Vosian courting traditions were pretty strange to outsiders; following the mech around, flying together, bickering, air dancing, mirroring wing movements… they were hard things to do with land-riders.

He would have to try another way. He needed an Iaconian to teach him how to court an Iaconian. 

He wandered the dance hall for a while after he gave up on asking Bee. He wanted to talk to the guy, not stalk him forever. If he found himself a little too invested in his second (third?) cup of engex, that was nobody's business but his own. 

So as he sipped his drink — damn lightweight seeker frames, it definitely just his second if he could still walk without stumbling—he came across a tall purple helicopter that was terribly drunk and awfully friendly and spilled his guts out. 

His name was Whirl and he was going to help Thundercracker "woo Bumblebee's little antennae off." 

Two drinks in, and it sounded like a good idea. 

After his third, it was a masterful plan.


	6. Pangs of the Spark

Prowl was always the last mech invited to a party and the first one called when something went wrong. That's probably why he had been working in his office since early that morning. 

To be fair, that was exactly how he liked it. Not that he didn't mind a few glasses of engex and a little company from time to time, no, he just preferred to keep to himself and get his work done.

It was better that way. He was a hard mech to like. It was just everyone else's problem that he happened to be the most gifted investigator on Cybertron.  
Sometimes, it was his problem, too.

The Constructicons were one of those problems. They were talented engineers, scientists, and builders renowned across Cybertron for their work, but here in Iacon, and in Prowl's office, they were amongst the most sophisticated mischief makers Prowl had ever known.

"So let me get this straight." Prowl began. "You want me to find a dead mech because your psychic link says he's walking around in Iacon somewhere?"

"It's not psychic per se," Mixmaster answered. "It's our gestalt bond. We haven't sensed anything from Scrapper for months."

"Since the Battle for Helex?" Prowl asked. "That was over a year ago."

"Exactly." Long Haul sighed sadly. "We know… well, we thought we knew he was gone. We felt that when he- well, when it happened. It's hard to lose your head and not notice."

"Now we can feel him again." Scavenger said nervously. "But it's not the same. He's not responding to the bond at all. There's something wrong, but we can't just ignore it."

"Why bring this to me?" Prowl asked. "I've arrested you all three times in the past four months for your constant misbehavior. I'm still writing a report on last week— and I still haven't been able to wash those paint bombs off my tires, by the way." He added with a pointed glare at Hook. "Besides, there are a dozen rangers better suited to finding mechs. Jazz is an excellent tracker. Nightbeat, too. Why don't you ask one of them?"

"You're the smartest mech in Iacon, Prowl, Of course we're asking you. Wouldn't you ask the only genius you knew if you were looking for someone you loved?" Bonecrusher asked.

Before Prowl could answer, his door was thrown open and another mech stepped in.

"What's up, Jazz?" Prowl asked. 

"Thunderclash says it's about time for the parade to start. You ready?"

"Yes, just… you and the others go on ahead. I'll meet you there."

"Alright, Prowler. See ya in a few."

He and a few of the other City Guard had always accompanied the Annual Parade. There was never any trouble, but it was important that they kept the roads nice and clear. It was looking to be the busiest Iacon had been in, well, forever— and Prowl was determined to keep everything on track. 

He couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was coming. Jazz called it "paranoia" and he didn't necessarily disagree, but… his instincts were right more often than not. 

His instincts also told him that the Constructicons' concerns might fit in with his own, but he had duties to fulfill. 

"Listen, Mixmaster, Scavenger, all of you. I've got to handle today's festivities?" 

"Figures…" Hook grumbled. 

"But," Prowl added with a frustrated sigh, "after I finish leading the floats this afternoon, I'll leave Jazz in charge and you can meet me back here, alright?"

"You mean it?" Scavenger asked. "Thanks, Prowl!"

He only grumbled in response as he ushered them out of his office and left for the Parade starting line.

If he felt a pang in his spark for them, that was his business. He'd lost plenty of people before. 

Some had been his fault.

× 

Megatron never liked to leave Tarn for long while it was rebuilding, but Terminus had threatened to repaint Fort Nemesis yellow if he didn't get away for a while. Terminus hated purple and Megatron knew it wasn't a hollow threat.

And, as Terminus had mentioned offhandedly, it really had been too long since Megatron had seen Starscream. 

His attraction to the haughty seeker had always carried a strange irony to it. 

Megatron was a slave and a miner; Starscream had been forged by a royal creator and raised in a palace. Megatron was built for power and strength; Starscream's delicate seeker frame for flight and speed. 

The seeker was smug at the best of times, infuriating at his worst, and damn it all if he didn't revv his engines like no other. 

During the war, Megatron came to know that Starscream's perfectly sharpened claws were more than just for appearance. He was brilliant and cunning and graceful and precise. He was openly doubtful of plans he didn't like and was quick to go straight for his throat the moment he sensed weakness. 

Megatron couldn't tell if he needed to have him locked in the brig or pinned against his berth. 

But, he realized, that dynamic of predator and predator had changed into something softer without his even noticing. 

Megatron could look at Starscream and see everything about the loud little flier that he couldn't see before. He saw the love he had for his people and his desire to change Cybertron for the better. He saw Star's love of learning and helping others. He could see now, after he learned of the Council's abuses, why Starscream had such a weakness to praise and a sensitivity to touch. His viciousness was his defense even if he had seemed more relaxed since they parted ways three months ago.

But now he looked at Starscream and he saw a beautiful, talented, and confounding seeker that drove him up the wall even as he seemed perfectly oblivious to the fact that Megatron could only barely stop himself from ravishing the flier within an inch of his life.

Starscream had always been terrible at hiding his attraction to him. Megatron could read the movements of the seekers wings like the back of his hand— had made a point out of understanding the seekers' body language just to be safe— and Starscream had been peacocking and preening from the first time they'd met. 

At first, he had found it to be an irritating distraction. Oh, but if he could go back. If Starscream wasn't such an obstinate creature, he would have undoubtedly grown to hate him and Megatron would have deserved it, maybe even found it preferable over the attachment that had grown instead. 

Megatron thanked Primus for Starscream's incredible spite to even the idea of common sense. 

Now, he just had to make it clear to Starscream that he had changed, too, because all this dancing around each other was going to kill him.

There was only one solution he could think of. 

He would have to court him on his own terms. Like a Vosian. 

"Soundwave, have the preparations been made?" He asked his second-in-command.

"Affirmative. Operation: Proposal is ready to initialize. I have found various literature on Vosian courtship rituals and prepared my research on your desk." Soundwave rumbled. 

"Perfect." Megatron answered, hesitating before he asked his next question. "Do you… do you think I'm doing the right thing, Soundwave? Not for myself, but for Tarn?"

"Permission to speak freely, Lord Megatron?"

"Always, my friend. You know I value your honesty."

"It does not matter; Tarn and Kaon are loyal to you. The only thing that matters is if it makes you and Starscream happy. To choose a life of one's own was the purpose of the revolution, was it not?" Soundwave asked bluntly. 

"I… you're right, as usual. I don't know why this is so difficult. Is it because he's a noble? Have I changed somehow?"

"Negative, Lord Megatron. It is hard because you are in love. I sense Starscream feels the same." 

It had been a long time since he had felt speechless. 

Rather than grace the accusation with an answer— they both knew Soundwave was right on both accounts— Megatron approached the desk in his room and flipped through the first few pages of a book called A Guide on Proper Vosian Courtship by Spinister of Vos.

"The proper way to begin a courtship with a Vosian, especially those of higher noble standing, is to announce your intentions to your interests' trinemates, creators and other immediate guardians."

That complicated things. Skywarp and Wheeljack had decided to visit Iacon for the duration of the Lost Light Festival. That left him two mechs: 

Windblade and Jetfire. 

×

Jetfire had chuckled when he told him. Megatron was well aware that he didn't do 'subtle,' but he hadn't anticipated that Jetfire would react so positively. 

"It's about time." Jetfire laughed. "Screamer's been rattling into my audials about you since Kaon."

"Has he said anything about… being interested in me?"

"Well, Screamer doesn't really open up that much to anybody other than his brothers an' maybe Windblade." Jetfire said, scratching his chin plating. "Either way, you got my blessing. You're a good mech, Megatron. Just treat him well. I would worry about your well-being if you didn't."

"Thank you, Jetfire. I hope I can make him happy."

"Wear that gladiatorial paint. He really, really likes when you wear it."

Megatron mentally filed that information away for later. That could come in handy and now wasn't the time to think in that particular direction. 

"Now, do you know where I might find Windblade?" He asked. 

"Oh, yeah. She's probably helping Ser Springer get his estate set up. Come on, I'll fly you there," he offered. 

× 

The Northern Citadel was a large and almost austere property by Vosian standards. 

Megatron rolled his optics at the 'austerity' of a golden chandelier in the entryway. Still, it was far cozier than he had imagined. Fliers were generally weak to the cold and the North edge of the city-state was just South of a Wintry Iaconian river, so the Citadel had been designed with warm features and heavy fabrics to compensate.

Windblade and Ser Springer were in the mess hall, both working to clean the old room in preparation to receive residents again. 

"Allow me to help," he offered, leaning down and grabbing a spare cleaning cloth from their bucket. 

"Lord Megatron, that won't be necessary," she asked. 

"Nonsense. I don't mind. Besides," he said as he began to clean an old oil stain, "there was something I was hoping to speak to you about. Cleaning helps me focus." 

"What can I do for you? Is everything okay?" 

"Yes, yes, nothing is wrong. I… spoke to Jetfire today. I was hoping to get your approval to court Prince Starscream."

He expected a solemn acceptance, or maybe even some defensive posturing on Starscream's behalf. 

He did not expect a gleeful squeal. 

It seemed today was full of surprises. 

"Yes! I approve, but only on one condition! You have to let me be in charge of the wedding!" 

"I, well, I suppose. I don't really know anything about Vosian weddings. Or Vosian courtship, actually."

"Oh, you have no idea. Starscream's been helm-over-heels for you forever! I can help! Please, please, let me help?" She begged. 

"I appreciate your offer, but this is something I would prefer to do on my own. Starscream deserves my full effort and I need to do this my way."

Her ecstatic grin calmed into a genuine smile. 

"You're right. I won't interfere. Oh- and don't worry about Warp and T.C. I'll send them a message. I know they'll be relieved." She said. "Oh, and if you're reading Spinister's book, everything in there is up to date, but skip chapter six. You don't need to know about flight-dancing." She added. 

"Thank you, Windblade. I'll keep that in mind."

"Be sure to come see me if you need anything." She commanded. "Now, since Starscream will be busy until tonight, you did offer to help Springer and I…" 

Megatron sent a silent curse to Terminus for forcing him to learn his manners.


	7. Light In Every Dark Corner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit chapters are coming soon! I promise!

Ratchet was acting like a damned fool, and he knew it. He was too old for this nonsense. 

The moment he saw Drift at the ball the night before, he turned tail like a new spark. Was it because the mech he'd been fantasizing about for over a decade just happened to be in the same room as him?

What could he have said? What could he possibly say except "Drift, I love you? I've loved you every day since I met you?" That was a pretty intense thing to spill to a mech who probably didn't remember him very well. 

Which was a lie, of course. He knew Drift had been looking for him. Orion had never been good at keeping secrets.

Ratchet wasn't the type of mech to act like a lovestruck fool. And yet... Here he was, hiding from the parade— and Drift— like his life depended on it. 

Knockout was not amused by the medic throwing himself into tasks around his clinic. 

"I don't know what's gotten into you, Ratchet, but I'm this close to having Breakdown throw you out of here. You've been here for six hours and I know you're scheduled to appear in that damned parade today."

Breakdown looked up at his name and waved at him from the corner as he played with their young sparkling Wildbreak. 

"So?" Ratchet griped. "It's just a parade for the sparklings and the tourists. Nobody is going to miss an old dodger like me." 

"Ratchet." Knockout sighed in exasperation. "I mean this in the friendliest way possible, but get the hell out of my clinic. You're distracted and you're low on charge. These refugees need medics, not sorry self-aggrandizing slobs."

"Well, tell me what you really think," Ratchet whined. 

"Very well, since you won't spark-up and admit it to yourself. First of all, you obviously love this Drift fellow you keep mumbling about, and you're terrified he won't like you back because you've never liked anyone quite this much before, and you've only been on the receiving end of most mech's affections. Secondly..."

"I—" 

"Shush. I'm not finished, Ratchet. Secondly, you think you don't deserve his love because you're too old, or too crotchety, or whatever else it is you think is wrong with you." He stopped for a moment and pulled Ratchet aside, nodding his head towards Breakdown. 

"Many people, Breakdown included, told me that I could do better than him. I could find someone younger, healthier, stronger, faster. Mechs look at him like he's a cripple. They have the gall to apologize to me." He hissed. "But Breakdown doesn't care what others think because I'm the only one that matters. And I, for one, know that he's a perfect, thoughtful, wonderful, brave, kind, gorgeous mech I hardly deserve. How could anyone do better than him?" He mused contentedly. "Listen, if you love this Drift, and he loves you, it won't matter if you're just a piece of sheetmetal in the wind. Love is everything, Ratchet. Don't let it get away from you just because you're a little scared."

And then he was gone, back to caring for his patients. Ratchet looked back over to Breakdown who was smiling brightly at his little sparkling. 

Ratchet knew very well how scarred that frame was. How devastated the wiring of his left leg, how extensive the welding of his protoform to his struts was underneath his armor plating. Breakdown had more than his fair share of warwounds.

But there was always the same brightness in his optics. Ratchet knew that brightness, saw it in himself whenever he thought of a certain speedster. 

It was happiness. It was love.

He felt breathless, his spark pulsing faster than it had ever been as he raced out the door to find Drift. 

×

Drift, meanwhile, was dealing with his own series of disasters. 

Rodimus had entered the early stages of his monthly heats and was currently weeping his spark out in their room. 

Normally Drift would be comforting him, even helping him with his heat pains, but Rodimus had asked for some time alone. Drift wasn't faring much better. 

After he couldn't find Ratchet at the ball, he'd been doing his best to put it out of his mind. He wasn't ready to think he might never find him. 

No, he couldn't think about that at all or he wouldn't be able to do much of anything. 

So he did what he normally did when he had some time to himself and had already finished his daily meditations.

He wandered. 

With the parade going on, the palace was largely empty. It was beautiful on every occasion, but something about the peace and quiet brought him a great sense of pleasure. He felt as if he was travelling in time, back before the council and the senate had used the Palace to rule and the first King and the legendary Knights of Cybertron conquered over the dark powers of Unicron. 

They were just legends, he supposed. Still, it was nice to let his imagination play as he had, out of habit, made his way to the empty palace library. 

Rodimus didn't know it yet, but he loved to sit in the window on the third floor of the library. When it was late afternoon, he could climb up the old staircase, slip past a few old shelves, and perch in the soft old linens rested in the old bay window of his forgotten corner. 

That's where he was when he heard someone else enter the library. 

"Drift? Are you in here?" Someone called. He didn't recognize the voice and he couldn't see through the shelves.

"Yes!" He called back. "I'm up here in the upper stacks." 

He waited a moment, but there wasn't an answer. He debated leaving his snug, warm spot to see if the mech was still searching for him when he heard the sound of someone climbing the steps. 

"Damn kid, you always gotta make me work for it, don't you?"

Drift stood at those words. That voice was familiar. But he looked through the stacks, only catching a glimpse of red and white. He could be wrong. He couldn't just assume and make a fool of himself in front of a stranger. 

He turned around to look back out the window. It's not Ratchet. He told himself. It's not Ratchet, it's not Ratchet, don't cry, don't cry.

"Drift?" The mech said. "Do you, uh, remember me?" 

How could it have been anyone else?

"Ratchet!" was the only word that made it out of his mouth when he rushed to the mech and threw his arms around him.

He pulled away and their optics met. Words failed them. Ratchet took his hands in his own and wove their fingers together as both of their spark casings shuttered open.

They didn't need to say anything at all. 

×

Drift had been gone for an hour, and Rodimus felt like shit for kicking his amica out after his little episode.

Normally Drift helped him through his heats but he knew… well, deep down, he knew that his amica was getting close to finding his sparkmate. He couldn't hog Drift forever even if he was a kind, gentle, terribly handsome frag partner. 

At least he was done crying now. Now he was mad, mostly because he couldn't even remember what he'd been crying about. 

A knock on the door interrupted his emotional frenzy. 

"Who is it?" He asked.

"My name's Getaway. I'm one of the Western lords. We met at the party last night." 

Rodimus didn't remember anything of the sort, but then again, he had a habit of forgetting people. Often on purpose if he wasn't immediately impressed by them. 

He made it a point to forget nobles especially. 

Still, he had hoped, for some reason, that it was Thunderclash. Of all mechs, he thought to himself, why did he hope it was Mr. Perfect Hero? 

"And?" He asked the mech at the door, cursing at his own tactlessness. He also kept forgetting that he was supposed to behave for Orion and Shockwave now. 

The mech only laughed. 

"I was wondering if you'd like to come to the festival after the parade with me tonight? I figured you could use some real drinks, not these fancy ones they keep in the castle."

Maybe he'd been to quick to judge the mech. It would hardly be the first time. 

Besides, his heat wouldn't fully kick in for another two days. 

"Sure," he said after a moment, hopping up. "Let me just grab my things."


	8. Shadows In Plain Sight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and I OOP

Maccadam's Oil House was, as always, the place to be for any mech, any time of day, but Rodimus found all the fun mechs came out in the night time. 

Blurr tended to work nightshifts. He was a total spikehead, but nobody could deny his talent for bartending. He could run the whole damn bar by himself.

Secretly, Rodimus thought Swerve was probably the better bartender of the two, but he'd never let that slip while Blurr was around. The slagger had been known to go stingy on mechs who got on his bad side. 

Getaway, for what it was worth, seemed to know everyone. 

Rodimus could feel the sleaze rolling off the mech in thick, pungent waves, but he never would say no to free drinks and a good meal. 

"Hey, Waspinator," the blue mech said as he sidled into the seat between him and the yellow insecticon. "How's the new job at the castle going?"

"It'z going good." The mech buzzed happily. "Wazpinator iz happy to have friendz. Counzil did not give uz many freedomz, but now Wazpinator can buy whatever he likez!"

"That's great, little buddy, just great." He said, sliding a little closer to Rodimus before leaning over to whisper in his audial. "I love this guy. He's dumb as a rock. Wazpinator this, Wazzzpinator that," he chuckled. "They really just let anybody in here now, huh?"

Rodimus was quickly calculating how hard he would need to punch the mech to rattle his denta. 

"But you, you're not like most of the other mechs in town, huh?" He asked quietly, setting his left hand on Rodimus's knee. "You've got a great frame, man. Absolutely smokin'." 

"Thanks." Roddy answered tersely. He moved his knees to close them, but the hand followed. It turned to climb up his leg a little more. 

Scrap it all, couldn't the mech have let him get more than one drink before he started this pit? He decided to roll with it. He was getting at least three good drinks from Blurr before he made for the solvent room and bailed. 

A new mech sidled up into stool to his left, offering up a much needed distraction. 

"Hey," Rodimus started. "Aren't you one of those flying Princes or something? What are you doing here?"

"Painting my pedes. What's it look like I'm doing?" The blue and red flier answered grouchily. Getaway snorted a laugh. 

"Okay, nevermind. Forget I asked." Rodimus said, throwing up his hands. 

The mech sighed in frustration. "Sorry, I'm just… hey, aren't you that Rodimus guy?"

"What of it?" Roddy asked. 

"You know Bee, right? Bumblebee?" 

"Well, yeah, he's basically a sparkbrother to me. Why do you ask?"

The seeker jumped up and rotated the stool, quickly turning him away from Getaway and his wandering servos. 

"Hey!" Getaway whined. "What the pit, dude?"

"I need you to deliver a letter to him for me!" 

"You need me to do what now?" Rodimus asked. He quickly reset his audials just to be safe. 

"I need you to deliver a letter to him. Oh, but first, before I forget, you're family, so I have to ask you first."

"Ask me what?" Rodimus grimaced, raising his hands in self-defense. 

"I would like to request your permission to court Bumblebee." He said proudly, loudly, and in front of every mech at Maccadam's. 

The bar was silent, at first, until everyone broke out in a wave of laughter. 

"Bee!" Getaway shouted in hysterics. "You want to bone the yellow guy? By. The. Spires." He choked out. 

Thundercracker looked out at the laughing crowd in rage.

"What's so funny? Why is everyone laughing?" He demanded.

It only made them laugh harder. 

Metalhawk spoke up from the back of the bar, laughing along with the other bots. "You want the world's favorite minibot? The guy who hid with the sparklings instead of fighting with everyone else?"

"That's not true! Instead of running around with all you scrapheads, Bee was helping them escape!"

"Yeah, yeah. But maybe if he had been were he was supposed to be have been nothing would have happened to Ser Sentinel and more lives would have been saved." He spat. 

"Maybe if his holiness had bothered to listen to Starscream, he'd still be here," Thundercracker hissed. 

"What did you say, winghead?" Getaway snarled. "Wanna run that by me again?"

"Okkayyyy, I think that's enough for one night, fellas. Why don't we talk about it some more back home, fella?" Rodimus said as he slid out of his stool. 

"What? You're going with him? After what he just said about about Ser Sentinel?"

"Errr… yeah? Sentinel was hardly the the nicest mech around. He was a total mightier-than-thou aft. He was a slaver, too, in case you forgot. "

"Oh, okay, excuse me," Getaway said, flabbergasted. "You know what? I'll give you that, but Sentinel was a product of his time. I was down for tossing out the senate and the Council, they were nutjobs. But you? I think heatmechs belong in brothels, not parading around the palace and acting like they get a say. That's right," he stated. "I know what you are. You're a pleasure bot, Hot Rod, so cut the name shit. You're not a Prime. Mechs like you don't even get to pretend to be primes. You're a carrier whore and that's all you'll ever be."

At first Rodimus thought the fist cracking into Getaway's faceplates was his own, but then he realized he hadn't moved. The paint was also the wrong color, he noticed dumbly.

"Whoops," Ratchet said. "I think that landed a little harder than I intended." He didn't seem upset by the mech on the ground. He looked around at the other patrons, who quickly returned to their business.

"Roddy! I'm sorry! Are you okay?" His amica asked as he rushed up to his side. "I could feel your bond from the Palace." 

"I'm fine, Drift. Let's get out of here. You too, Prince what's-your-name." 

"It's Thundercracker." The tall seeker retorted, stepping over the collapsed frame of Getaway. 

"Thunder this, Thunder that, we gonna start adding numbers at the end of our names next?" Rodimus complained. 

His spark wasn't in it.

×

The Constructicons had waited patiently in his office all afternoon, Prowl noticed. He hadn't been able to switch with Jazz as soon as he'd liked thanks to some engex-induced brawling, but the Constructicons hadn't seemed to mind. Their fields- and they really should learn to control them- were simply filled with relief that he showed up. 

They had managed to follow the trace of Scrapper's bond to an older section of the Iaconian sewers. 

"Whatever is making that signal is moving." Mixmaster said, frame shuddering. "It's creepy as pit."

"Only one way to find out for sure what's causing it." Prowl said as he pried open an old access hatch. He frowned at the opening and then looked back up at the larger mechs. 

"I don't think the rest of you are going to fit." He said. 

"Scrapper did." Bonecrusher noted. "Or at least, whatever is using his signal. It feels big. Maybe there's another way in?"

"Scrapper helped designed the tunnels, remember?" Long Haul added. "He'd have to have made one entrance big enough for him."

Prowl looked into the tunnel for a moment. He had memorized the layout of all the cities sewers a long time ago, although many of the older ones were in severe disrepair and off limits to even the repair teams.

"There's one large exterior construction hatch on the West side of the city, about 50 meters South of the market square. Go straight in, take the third pipe on the right, and I'll meet you at the old cistern, alright?"

"Are you sure, Prowl? That's a long way to go by yourself. We could just rip this hatch open and climb through."

"No, we don't need these old systems to sustain any further damage." He replied. "We've had several sinkholes in the past few months and I don't want to add more. I'll be fine. You five go on around."

"If you say so, Prowl. See you in a bit." Mixmaster said as the five constructicons transformed and rolled out. 

Prowl powered on his headlights and made his way into the sewers. 

It was, unsurprisingly, in terrible condition. The walls were covered in rust and moss. Metal crumbled just from his passing. 

Prowl noticed immediately that the maps he had memorized were no longer viable. The further he traveled, the more he realized that the sewer didn't seem to follow the maps at all. 

There was no way he'd had the map systems confused. He checked his memory banks again. 

Sector 4E2, North Iacon. The map was correctly labelled, but why was it wrong. Had the guards been given an outdated map? A draft, perhaps? 

He was now, he realized, quite lost. Not that he couldn't find his way back, of course, but he was essentially going forward blindly. If the map was so incorrect, there was no telling where the cistern was located or if the Constructicons had managed to find a way into the sewers. 

From the path ahead, he saw a flicker of a shadow in the moonlight that filtered down through the bars of a gutter. He flicked off his headlights and moved quietly as he followed the movement. He crept up to the corner and drew his sword as he leaned back against the wall. He dimmed his optics before he glanced further down into the dark tunnel and spotted the green of one of the Constructicons. 

The mech was pacing oddly between two sides of the sewer. 

His sensor net was immediately set to the highest setting. Something definitely wasn't right here. 

He hesitated. He knew by calling out, the mech would be able to easily pinpoint his location. If he was hostile- and Prowl was never an optimist- Prowl would be in a tight spot. The mech was significantly larger than him and would probably have no hesitation when it came to destroying the surrounding weakened walls. 

As it turned out, he didn't have to decide. Long Haul managed to round the corner across from him and shouted out to the mech. 

"Yo, Scrapper, you a ghost or something? What's up with you?"

The odd mech's neck snapped around in an instant, revealing a cracked, tooth-filled mouth and letting out a horrible metallic shriek. 

"Sparkeater!" Prowl shouted as he charged forward. "Draw your swords!"

He was barely around the corner when the creature was on him. He raised his blade, but the creature was fast, too fast for its size, and silver claws pierced his sparkcasing in an instant. 

It hurt, oh primus, it hurt to feel the tips of those sharp claws touch the outer edge of his spark, but it seemed neither he nor the sparkeater anticipated the feedback blast from some residual energy. They were both blasted into different directions and the unstable sewer walls came crashing down on every side. 

His optics online and he found himself pressed chest-down underneath bricks and metal. The weight was making it hard to vent. His intake had likely been damaged in the blast. 

"Prowl!" Scavenger cried out. "Prowl! Are you okay?"

Prowl couldn't speak. He didn't have the breath to spare, but he knew he didn't need to panic. The Constructicons knew enough that they should be able to find a safe way to extricate him. He could already hear the Constructicons digging through the rubble. 

He set his systems into low power mode to save his energy.

He would probably be here for some time, so he threw himself into replaying what had happened. 

The maps he'd seen were incorrect, meaning there was no way of knowing how the sparkeater had gotten in until he rechecked the entire system by foot. 

The sparkeater had somehow been pinging across Devastator's bond. Not much was understood about gestalt bonds, but for a mech to die and come back without a spark and somehow still producing a spark signature was already strange enough.

The more he reflected, the more questions he had. Far more than any answers. How did the sparkeater wind up in Iacon when Scrapper died in Kaon? Why were his maps wrong? What caused the feedback blast from his spark? Something bad was happening and Prowl dreaded what that could mean. 

"Sorry about this, Prowl," a voice said. Prowl flicked his optics up. "I need you to understand. They need your help."

Scrapper, his ghostly form near transparent in the darkness, was kneeling over him. He swiftly raised his hand and placed it on Prowl's head as he flooded him with thoughts, emotions, and Prowl could feel something new take hold in his spark. A bond.

He could feel Scrapper's presence inside himself. He could feel the Constructicons scrabbling to understand the new bond. 

Prowl would have shrieked if he had the breath for it.


	9. Lovers, Letters, and Iaconians

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will try and mark explicit passages with an (E) just in case.

(E) 

Anyone who knew Shockwave knew he loved many things, and that he loved those things openly and proudly. He had never been good at hiding his affections. He loved people. He loved life. He loved good engex and good friends and a good coat of polish. 

Those of his friends who knew the true him, however, knew there were two things he valued above all else in the world. More often than not, it was those two things that got him into trouble.

Sleep and Orion Pax. 

Specifically? Fragging Orion Pax. 

Now, he didn't think fragging was the be-all, end-all of his relationship with Orion, oh no. He loved Orion more than anything else in the world. He couldn't ascribe value to the air, or the sea, or the clouds, but if he could, he knew that Orion would trounce them flat. 

But fragging Orion? Every time was a treasure. Orion would- and did- defeat sleep every time. How many times had he been late to meetings because he couldn’t pull away from him? How many close calls had narrowly missed them because he had to pull Orion back for one more kiss?

What wouldn't he give up to let his hands slide over his gorgeous knight's recharging frame in the moonlight of the little morning hours?

How many times had he woken himself up early just to get a chance to tease that array panel open and slip a single servo inside the protoform lips of a warm valve? 

What could compare to the sounds of his conjunx-to-be huffing soft whimpers in his sleep as he added a second finger, scissoring them apart to feel more slick begin to coat his fingers?

He stopped moving when a sluggish hand grabbed him by the wrist. Fearing he'd gone too far, he moved to pull away and apologize. They’d done this type of thing before, but Shockwave could forget sometimes that his love of fragging was in a class of its own.

But Orion whined when he stopped.

"Shockwave… just frag me already." he demanded sleepily. 

“Whatever you want, Sweetspark,” he chuckled. Shockwave felt even more warmth pooling into his struts as he climbed over the other mech and slid his own interface panel out of the way. He pressed a gentle kiss to his lips before he pressed the tip of his spike into Orion’s ready valve.

How would he ever be able to resist this? The soft, wet folds of his conjunx’s valve around him, the gentle flutter of calipers as he pushed slowly but steadily inside, the weak hold of Orion's legs as he wrapped them over the back of Shockwave's to pull him closer. 

He looked down at Orion only to catch the mech smiling sleepily back up at him. His field was as full of fondness as the bright blue optics looking into his own. They shared a shudder as he bottomed out inside him. 

Nothing else ever stood a chance against Orion. 

He pulled out and slammed back into his conjunx, starting a rapid pace that had Orion's vocalizer already struggling to make more than static as he held onto Shockwave’s arms.

He rubbed against Orion’s ceiling nodes with experienced accuracy, knowing when to pause between thrusts to grind his hips and spike just there to make Orion grip him a little harder before starting up the rough pace all over again. 

They wouldn’t last long, or at least he wouldn’t, not when Orion was raising his hips to try and meet every deep thrust like he was trying to keep him inside forever and making those little gasping noises like he couldn’t speak. 

Orion was close, and he knew it. The desperate touch of Orion’s fingers against his chest had him opening his sparkplating just in time with his conjunx’s. It was the only warning he got before Orion threw his head back and their sparks merged in warm light and delirious pleasure. Echoes of Orion’s overload slammed into him and he pressed harder into the mech beneath him as cycling calipers pulled him deeper, leaving him groaning into Orion’s audial as his transfluid spilled into his conjunx’s valve.

The contentment in his spark was two-fold as he all but collapsed onto Orion’s strong frame. Orion simply wrapped his arms around him and held him close, pulling his face up for a kiss as they basked in each other’s spark glow. Love, warmth, happiness, pleasure; the spark merge shared everything between them. For those beautiful few moments, they were one soul together. 

Finally, reluctantly, Shockwave had to pull away from his sated conjunx. He looked down at the mech who had fallen asleep with his sparkplates still open. 

The trust Orion felt for him was so staggering that he could scarcely breathe. 

He should get up, go find Starscream, and actually see if the mech would mind showing him some of his research on aerodynamics. 

But Orion turned, mumbled something in his sleep as threw a leg over his side, and Shockwave glimpsed a sliver of transfluid on the softly scuffed paint of his thigh.

Orion had proved victorious once again.

X

“Alright,” Rodimus started, “so let me get this straight. You asked Whirl for relationship advice.”

“Yes?” Thundercracker answered. “And what’s wrong with that?”

“Whirl… well, first, what advice did he give you? Just tell me everything you guys tried.”

“Okay, well, let’s see… we left the ball that night to get started. The first thing he told me was…”

x

“If you want to seduce a minibot, you’ve got to think like a minibot.” Whirl insisted as he opened the front door of his home. “Sorry about the mess.”

“What mess?” Thundercracker asked. The home seemed spotless. Empty, even. By Vosian standards, it was practically like stepping into old ruins.

“What does that mean, exactly?” T.C. asked. “Thinking like a minibot?

“It means you’ve got to meet a minibot like Bee. I know the perfect one. His name is Tailgate and we’re going to practice with him. TAILGATE!” Whirl shouted. He waited a moment before speaking again. “Oh, right. He doesn’t live here. Sorry. I keep inviting him to move in with me, but the little guy insists on avoiding, and I’m just quoting him here, “the place where the Council disposed of war prisoners.” It’s fine, yeah? You probably don’t believe in ghosts, right? Well, doesn’t matter, we’re going to Tailgates. He’s usually home. Just between you and me, I’m his only friend. Well, except for this other purple guy he says he keeps meeting in a field outside of town, but I’ve elected to ignore him because poor Tailgate has no idea that he’s insane. Don’t mention it to him. Seriously. I’ll kill you if you bring it up.”

Thundercracker simply nodded in response. There was far too much to unpack there. He simply chalked it up as another facet of Iaconian culture.

He followed the other flier to a cottage a few miles into the Western forest. 

“I thought houses this small were a myth,” T.C. said. 

“All minibots live in tiny houses like this,” Whirl assured him with a sage nod. “They have reverse claustrophobia, so being out in the open for too long makes them uncomfortable.”

That didn’t sound right, but Thundercracker had no way to dispute it. He would have to find a way to get Bee his own extra small room to keep him comfortable. 

“TAILGATE! IT’S ME! YOUR BEST FRIEND, WHIRL!” The chopper shouted as he knocked on the cottage door. 

“Just a minute!” a little voice called from inside. 

“Oh, and don’t let him fool you,” Whirl whispered. “This guy once deadlifted Megatron in a barfight.”

Thundercracker felt like someone had disabled his higher processing power, but it was too late to do anything about it now. A little white-and-blue minibot opened the door a crack and looked up at Whirl expectantly. 

“I need you to help this guy seduce a minibot.” Whirl stated. 

The little bot calmly closed the door back. T.C. couldn’t say he blamed the bot. In fact, he was relieved. 

Until he heard the sound of several locks unlatching from behind the door. 

“Come in!” the little mech shouted. 

Whirl’s threw the door open and folded his body into the little house. Thundercracker, somehow, managed to bring in his wings enough to climb in sideways. If he stood up all the way, he would have popped through the ceiling. 

“So, who’s the lucky mech you’re trying to seduce?” Tailgate asked. 

“Bumblebee.” Whirl said, now sporting a small teacup in his clawed hands. 

“Aww! I love that guy! He helped save me once, you know, back during the war. Everyone was so focused on fighting, but Bee made sure to evacuate everyone once he heard that Sentinel was going to burn the city.”

“Wait,” Thundercracker said. “Sentinel was the one who ordered the fires? Everyone thought that was Ratbat.”

“Nope. Sentinel did that. He said “If they want Iacon so bad, let them have the ashes.” He didn’t let anybody tell the civilians, but Bee found out and helped everyone escape. Me and Swerve and a bunch of other bots owe him a lot.”

“Yeah,” T.C. said. “Me too. He stood up for me, once. Didn’t even know me. He lost his voice back then, because of me. He was working undercover and he saw Seven-of-Nine… well, he caught him doing something to me and he said something to distract him and Seven broke his voice box. I just want to tell him how I feel. I want to say thank you. Even if he doesn’t like me back, I want to be his friend. I know he doesn’t really remember me, but I still want to try.” He looked back up to Tailgate and Whirl. 

They were holding each other as streams of tears poured from their optics. 

“That’s so beautiful!” Tailgate cried. “Don’t worry, we’ll help you, we’ll help you!” he promised. “Whirl! Grab some paper! We’re going to make a list of everything we need for Plan: Bumblebee!”

“Yes, sir!” Whirl saluted. 

Fifteen minutes later, and Tailgate had a five step plan. 

“First, you need to write him a letter. Secondly, you ask Bee out on a date. Third, we’ll write you cue cards so you know what to say. Fourthly, he realizes who you are.”

“And step five?” Thundercracker asked. 

“Gross! Step five is between you and Bee! Keep it to yourself!”

“Right…” 

“Now letters are a very popular and traditional method of Iaconian courtship. I happen to have a few old ones in my book collection. Just wait here…”

X

“So you wrote Bee a letter?” Rodimus asked. “Did you give it to him?”

“Yep.” Thundercracker sighed as he pushed his face into his hands. “Whirl handed it to him yesterday afternoon. He laughed.”

“He laughed? I know Bee’s a joker, but he’s not the kind of guy to laugh at something heartfelt. What did it say?”

Thundercracker reached into his subspace and handed him a draft of the letter. 

Drift, Ratchet, and Rodimus all crowded around to read it together. 

“Oh, kid, oh, no,” Ratchet said as he desperately tried to stifle a laugh. Drift and Rodimus made no such attempt:

Dearest Bumblebee;

I hope this letter finds you on a bright and cheerful day, for you deserve nothing less, and if it is in fact cold, or dreary, then I hope that I can entreat you to take the warmth of my earnest praise to spark, for even if you do not feel the same as I, the words still ring as true. 

In reason, rather than emotion, did I try to find my refuge from these feelings, and conceal the deepest yearnings of my spark, but as I uncovered veil from veil of you before my eyes I found each simple observation in your favor: The brightness of your eyes in dim or light; the pleasant softness of your voice with every word; and the stream of gentle kindness that stretches from your spark like the healing hand of Primus himself. 

This went on for several pages. 

“Vos doesn’t do this kind of thing, okay? We dance. We fly. We pursue.” Thundercracker said defensively. 

“Iacon doesn’t do this, either.” Ratchet said with a cough. “Listen, I know it’s hard to accept, but you should just go up and talk to him.”

“Listen to Ratty,” Drift said with a smile. “But don’t think he’s become wise with age. He just had to do the same thing yesterday.”

“But what if he doesn’t like me? What if he’s still afraid of me? What if he hates me?” 

“The only way to find out is to ask him yourself. Oh, and for the love of Primus, don’t use those cue cards.” Drift added. 

Thundercracker sighed. Deep down, he knew it would come to this. He just hoped Tailgate and Whirl wouldn’t be too upset when he didn’t stick to the plan.

Fortunately for Thundercracker, his plight was forgotten the moment Whirl and Tailgate found Thundercrash sitting alone in the palace gardens.


	10. Lullaby of the Just

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes Cybertron's most intimidating pair of lips

Prowl tried to be just. He knew he could be cold and calculating. He struggled to empathize with people he deemed criminals. Even the other guards, save Jazz, avoided him when he was on a particularly grey case.

But Prowl was not devoid of guilt.

Under the orders of his superiors, he had tortured people for information. He had executed mechs without question. It was pointless- at times painful- to question the will of the Senators that commanded him. 

If he hadn't done what they asked, he knew they would have approached Jazz. Jazz was a good mech. Prowl knew what Jazz's answer to their requests might have been. 

The Council wouldn't have tolerated his response. 

The Council insisted that he was following the will of Primus. Prowl hoped, in spite of himself, that Primus was real. Jazz once told him that Primus loved them all equally, that anything could be forgiven if one was only willing to change. To make things right. 

Prowl hoped that Primus, if he was truly just, could give him a deserving punishment.

The work he had done with Mesothulas probably deserved some kind of punishment. 

Mesothulas was a talented scientist. He was also a bit… mad.

The Council kept him well-funded and well-hidden from the public eye. Prowl had no idea the mech or his lab even existed until Mesothulas had asked for him personally. 

"You're an outlier, Prowl. I noticed it months ago. But I don't want you to be afraid, oh no, I don't want the Council to find out. I want to use you and your special mind," he said as he affectionately tapped a long, tapered finger to his helm, "to help me discover the secrets of the allspark. The Council wants to understand the gifts of Primus. I think your processors will be of great use to me."

In other words, Prowl never had a choice. Day after day, Mesothulas worked to understand the secrets of life, but even when he failed to learn something new, his consolation was the exploration of Prowl's thoughts.

"Your mind is beautiful, Prowl. So many directions, so much dedicated power. The potential is incredible. It inspires me." He had said. "You are a gift from Primus himself."

Needless to say, their relationship was strange from the beginning. Eventually, however, Mesothulas grew to be almost as obsessed with Prowl as he was with his beloved projects. It wasn't love, not even close, but it wasn't disgust, either. Prowl knew the scientist had wanted him in some capacity. 

Prowl didn't know why he had accepted it so easily.

Still, why was he thinking about it now? It had been so long since memories of Mesothulas had followed him into his dreams. Then it struck him. The sparkeater. The cave-in. Someone had seen him, spoken to him after the ceiling fell onto him, but he couldn’t remember who. He must have hit his head.

He recognized the dream he was in now. It was one of his more vivid nightmares. He wanted to wake up, but he couldn't. Some force kept him asleep, pushing him into the dream as if it needed to see them for itself.

It always started as Prowl turned the corner of the dark tunnel that led to Mesothulas's lab. It had been a terrible day. He'd been distracted for hours by an ache in his chest and had finished his reports hours early just so he could slip out of his office. His sensory net picked up the sound of voices ahead despite his distraction.

He stopped. Mesothulas often spoke to himself and to his experiments, but they never spoke back. Prowl pressed his audials against the wall and turned up the receiver strength.

"This is the last shipment you'll receive for a while. Use it wisely this time." Someone said. Prowl detected a hint of amusement, but he didn't recognize the voice. Strange, he thought. No one else was supposed to have access to the lab.

"Very well, I'll just have to slow down my experiments to accommodate the loss.” another voice answered. That, Prowl knew, was Mesothulas. "I trust you know the way out."

He could hear Mesothulas' angry revv as the other mech stalked off towards the Western exit. He must have entered through the sewers, Prowl realized. He came from outside the border of Iacon City.

He didn't sense Mesothulas until he was already behind him. The scientist crowded him up against the wall from behind. 

"My, my, Prowl, aren't we the little eavesdropper. Isn't that Jazz's function?" He hissed playfully into Prowl's audial. He backed away from Prowl and let his pedes drop back to the ground. "I didn't know you would finish your patrols so early today."

"You're lucky my sensor net has been on high power today." Prowl bit back. "Who was that mech, Mesothulas? Someone from the Council?"

"Not quite, dearspark. He is… an acquaintance of Senator Sentinel. That's all you need to know."

"What exactly did he deliver?"

"Something useful." Mesothulas said. "Follow me."

He led Prowl to a room at the end of the corridor. 

"Cold storage? Primus, did the academy send you another body?" Prowl grimaced. 

"Not yet, unfortunately. I'm beginning to run low. Still, this is is far better." Mesothulas said as he walked into the center of the room. 

A large glass case was sitting on a table in the center of the room. Inside, there was a familiar faint blue glow. 

"Is that…?"

"A spark, yes. Isn't it beautiful? It's our spark, Prowl." 

"What do you mean ours? Mesothulas, what have you done?" 

"I was changing the machinery when I noticed you there was residual energy stuck in the equipment. Your energy, Prowl. Your spark has been exchanging bits and pieces of information across the channel in a type of interface. This," he gestured excitedly, "is our spark! Life without the allspark, life without forging! All it took was a little coaxing."

Prowl moved closer to the spark. It was glowing faintly, weakly, but there was no doubt in Prowl's mind. It was alive. It was... his. This was the source of the pain in his chest. He could feel its suffering. 

"Mesothulas, we should ask for one of the forge-wives. Something's not right."

"Ah, so you do feel it! I thought you might! You're sparkbonded even without carrying. Fascinating. But don't concern yourself overly, Prowl. This is a false spark, after all. It may hurt, but using it is the best chance we have at understanding the allspark."

"But- but how did you do it? Raw energy shouldn't be enough."

"This, Prowl. This is what the mech from before gave to me. This," he said, holding up a brightly growing crystal, "is Dark Energon. Using this, I can channel energy." He said.

Behind him, on one of the experiment tables, was the body of a mech wrapped in chains. Mesothulas grabbed a cable and attached it first to the mech and then to the spark's container. Then he turned the machine on.

The pain in his chest became unbearable. The spark was suffering. It was in pain. It was alive.

It called out to him.

The dead mech jolted against its chains as siphoned spark energy poured into it.

"Mesothulas," Prowl growled through gritted denta, clutching at the pain in his chest. "Stop! You're hurting it!"

To Prowl's relief, Mesothulas stopped the machine and came to his side. "My apologies, Prowl. I didn't think proximity would strengthen the bond. I'll have to attach a dampener to prevent the feedback from hurting you."

"Mesothulas, no! I- I feel it! It's alive. It's really alive. It needs me!" He demanded, pushing Mesothulas away. 

Mesothulas snapped his fingers and the body on the table jumped to life, optics glowing even as the busted hollow helm of the mech's head dropped rusted pieces onto the floor. Strips of metallic tentacles seemed to slide out from between the back of the dead mech's plating. 

A sparkeater. 

"But look what we can do with it, Prowl! We can have an undefeatable army. Immortal. Powerful. Fearless!"

"No. No! It's wrong, Mesothulas."

"Listen to me, Prowl. Don't let your emotions get in the way of logic here. We can keep Cybertron safe. You don't understand. The Dark Energon Sentinel has been getting has been coming from Luna. Unicron plans to raise an army. With this spark, we can raise our own army to protect ourselves! One we can control!"

He snapped his fingers again and the sparkeater fell back to the ground, lifeless again.

"These are quite the secrets your spilling, Mesothulas." A voice crooned. It was the same one that had been speaking to Mesothulas.

Prowl turned around. He recognized the mech from the wanted posters, from the bounties, from the nightmarish descriptions of those who had managed to survive. He was violence incarnate.

Overlord. 

Prowl never forgot the cold dread that had overcome him. The giant mech's field radiated malevolence so strongly it was almost palpable. 

This was the moment when he usually woke up, spark near jumping out of his chest as visions of Overlord found him again and again. He waited to wake up, to find Jazz just down the hall with a warm cube of energon waiting to comfort him. 

He shuttered his optics, but he didn't wake up. 

"My lord won't be very happy about this, Mesothulas. First you hide this little discovery from us, and now I discover you've been sharing our little experiments with strangers? Lord Unicron will be quite displeased. Now come here little mech and I'll make this nice and quick."

"No, you won't." Mesothulas said.

"Then I'll just have to kill the both of you. Lord Unicron has what he needs. I'll just take the spark back with me." Overlord promised, drawing a long ragged-edged sword from his back. 

"No! The spark is tied to Prowl! If you kill him, it will die." Mesothulas stated, moving to put himself between Prowl and Overlord.

Prowl was torn. Should he help Mesothulas fight? Run for help? 

The spark cried out to him again. He could hear it in his spark.

Don't leave me.

Prowl was cold, and calculating, but he was not devoid of empathy. He ran to the case, smashed it open, and reached for the spark.

"Prowl, no!" Mesothulas shouted. "It could short your sparkl!"

Too late. The moment he touched the spark, he felt a pain sear through his protoform and into his own spark. He felt as if a flaming arrow had torn his arm apart from the inside. His spark pulsed in odd waves, making it hard to breathe. 

"Die!" Overlord shouted, charging forward as he shoved past Mesothulas, sword raised high as he prepared to cleave it down onto Prowl. 

"No!" Mesothulas shouted as he slammed into Overlord's back, stumbling him long enough to dig his claws into the back of Overlord's helm. The giant mech to howl in pain. 

"Prowl! Get out of here!" Mesothulas commanded. "Run!"

Prowl struggled to his feet, energy crackling from his frame as he stumbled towards the door. All he could think about was getting away, getting the new spark in his chest someplace safe.

Overlord reached a hand back and tore Mesothulas off him, throwing him onto Prowl and sending them both crashing to the ground.

"Looks like I'll just to bring you both back to Lord Unicron." He sneered, walking over to stand over Prowl. He lifted him by a doorwing, his hinges screaming as they threatened to tear. His optics and audials were struggling to stay online. "But I only need this one alive, Mesothulas."

He felt the warmth in his chest before he saw it. A faint blue glow emanated from his spark for a moment before a pulse shot forward. Overlord crumpled to the ground, dropping Prowl and landing beside him. 

Mesothulas clawed his way over to Overlord. He was coughing up worrisome amounts of energon.

"The surge has sent him into a temporary stasis. He'll wake up soon. I can't stop him, but I can take away his memories of you and the spark. You have to be long gone before he wakes up."

"But-"

"Ah, ah, Prowl. You have more than just yourself to worry about now. Don't worry about me. I'll find a way to come see the both of you again someday."

"I'll send help, Mesothulas. I promise."

Mesothulas only smiled at him. "I know, Prowl. You always do what you think is right." He pulled Overlord's helm off and pulled out some small, needle-shaped tools. 

"Now, let's see if Trepan's first set of hands still work."

"Get out of here, Prowl." He said. "You can't carry me. There's only one thing I can do to keep you and our spark safe."

Prowl had made it out of the lab somehow. He ended up Ratchet's clinic safe with the spark while Jazz and his unit investigated what had been deemed a strange disturbance. 

They had found an empty lab, which the Council was quick to cover-up. He never heard from Mesothulas again.

In the end, he had given the sparkling up. How could he have ever hoped to become a parent? He didn't deserve the right, and no sparkling deserved Prowl. 

Now he was furious. All those memories, buried and hidden and lost, mixing together in his head. Why did they have to resurface now? Why did it feel like someone had been in his head with him?

"I'm sorry, Prowl." A voice said to him. "I didn't know, but now I know the kind of mech you are. I hope you don't hate me for this, but I need your help. My brothers need your help."

The voice seemed to take shape in the darkness of his thoughts. It was green. And black. And purple. 

"Scrapper?" He asked. "Is that you?" 

"What's left of me. I wish it could be someone else, Prowl. What Mesothulas did to you was wrong, and here I am doing the same damn thing, but I don't have a choice, Prowl. Someone has to see the truth. The gestalt bond is part of you now. Welcome to the Constructicons."

"What do you mean? I'm not one of you." Prowl asked. He was only growing more confused.

"You are now, Prowl. When I touched you, the bond spread out to you. Long Haul, Mixmaster, Bonecrusher, Hook, Scavenger... They like you. The bond felt that and it reached out to protect you. It's yours now, too. But that's something to worry about later. I need you to understand this, Prowl: Mesothulas is alive and Unicron has him. You thought the sparkeater war was over, Prowl. It's just beginning."


	11. Ashes to Ashes...

Today was the third of the Lost Light Festival: the Day of Remembrance. It was the day that mechs gathered to remember those who were lost and to honor those that remained. It was a quiet day where acts of service were given freely to those in need. 

It was snowing softly in Iacon City today. It was a beautiful sight. Sparklings played together in the snow while their creators helped their neighbors. 

To many mechs, the snow just looked like ash.

Thundercracker had left to go find be. Drift was off to spend some time with his new conjunx. 

When Rodimus was alone, his mind inevitably fell into the past. 

Twenty-or-so years before the world fell to shit, Hot Rod was a sparkling alone in the world. He didn't know who his creators were or why he woke up one day in the free streets of Nyon without a clue how he'd gotten there. 

As he grew, he suspected it had something to do with his function:

Entertainment. He was built to please.

From the time he had experienced the first of the monthly heats that would plague him, he knew exactly what it was that the Functionists had expected of him… and he knew that they would never get it. 

He was more than a pleasure bot or some trophy mech, Counci's will be damned. He refused to believe that function and outmoding were a part of Primus' plan. Not for him, and not for the dozen or so outcasts that he had somehow gathered under his doorwings as he made Nyon his home.

But that meant he and the others had to find other ways to get by. Nyon was a city-state on the edge of the Wilds; it was a small kingdom, but by itself it was a large city surrounded by sturdy walls. 

It wasn't the nicest or cleanest place to live, but the Council didn't bother policing it anymore since they moved the refineries to Helex. They were too focused on their fun little projects in Iacon to care about them and left the nobles in charge. 

So he took work wherever he could find it: escorting merchants, bounty hunting, the odd bedlam job if a local noble had a little too much shanix at his disposal. 

He wasn't a bad mech, but he didn't consider himself a good one, either. As long as he helped him the other outcasts who looked up to him get by, it didn't really matter. He did what he had to do. As long as no one got hurt and they got plenty to eat, it was a good day. 

Still, maybe it shouldn't really have surprised when some of the local paid thugs finally caught up with him as he made his way out the village tavern. 

Didn't mean he hadn't been there before.

"Fellas," he greeted as he was backed into the wall in the alley. "How's it going?" He could feel his press on his back. The thugs were too close for it to be much use now. 

"Oh, we're fine. Now you? You might not be. Why don't you go ahead and tell us where you stashed Swindle's last shipment and save us all the trouble? Beating on you has started to lose its charm." 

Now, that was novel. "You make it sound like you guys ever manage to catch me." He looked between the two taller mechs, and there it was: a gap between them. He just had to distract them a little.   
"Not like it matters. Didn't guys hear that Saint Magnus is coming into town tonight? Heard it from Percy, that guy who works for Impactor."

"You're lyin', rat. Magnus has better things to do than chase down Swindle." The mech in charge said. 

"Yeah," another piped up. "They're still looking for that Sunder guy."

"No, no, it's true!" Hot Rod said. "Go ask Perceptor. Magnus put Fort Max in charge of the investigation for a little while so he could tour the outer territories. Get this. He said there's been rumors of a sparkeater sighting."

"A sparkeater? No way." The mech said. They pulled back for a moment- it was all he needed. He flamed up, knocking the mechs down and racing off into the night. 

One of them was a speeder, too. 

"Damn," he cursed, drifting into a sharp turn as he tried to shake the mech. Still, he was faster than the mech chugging along behind him. He just had to lose him somewhere outside of town and circle back. 

At least, that's what he wanted to happen until one of the other thugs landed on his hood.

A flier. Just what he needed.

The mech on top of him reached for his sheathe. Rodimus braced himself and launched into a roll. Better to take a few dents than a wound from a sword. 

He transformed back into his mech form and pulled out his bow when a swift sword strike cut it cleanly in half. 

"You slagger!" He cried, smacking the pieces onto the mech. "That was expensive!"

The mech lunged for him again. He looked from side to side, out onto the street. There was a mech walking down the sidewalk with two swords strapped to his waist. 

Rodimus didn't like to take from strangers, but a weapon was a weapon. He sprinted to the mech and grabbed one of the swords before the mech could stop him and landed two swift but deep strikes against the thugs. Before he could run off, one of them landed a heavy hit to his helm that left his audials ringing something fierce. He stumbled away into the night. He had to get home, but his vision was fading fast.

Next thing he knew, he was awake in the Nyonian Castle jail and Sandstorm was standing at the cell door.

"Get up, kid." Sandstorm demanded. "Master Impactor doesn't need a little runt like you taking up space in the cells. We have actual criminals to keep in here, you know."

"Frag off," Hot Rod whined. The ache in his helm reminded him that he'd gotten into trouble last night, though he couldn't remember exactly what happened. 

Sandstorm opened the door and gestured for him to leave.

"Fine, fine, don't have to tell me twice. I was getting tired of lookin' at your ugly mug anyway, Sandstorm."

"Shove it up your aft, Rod." The mech groused as he roughly pushed the speedster out of the cell. "I can't believe someone would actually pay to get you out of here. Like you ever stay for more than a night." He grumbled.

"Someone did what now?" 

"I paid your bail." That apparent someone said. Hot Rod spun around and came face to face with the mech he'd taken the swords from the night before. He was handsome as hell, Hot Rod realized. He was white with tall, pointed finials and hips to die for. 

Still, it didn't answer why he had bailed him out. 

"Uh… that's very nice of you, I guess. What uh, what exactly do you want from me? I don't remember much from last night." He said, rubbing the sore dent on the back of his helm. 

"My sword. You took it from me last night to fight off some mechs chasing you. Listen, I'm not angry. I just want it back. My swords were a gift from someone and they're very important to me."

"Sure," Hot Rod said, confused. He didn't trust the mech, but he seemed to be telling the truth. Besides, Hot Rod didn't make it a habit to take from innocents. "I don't know exactly how I got here, but if wasn't with me, than it's probably back at my…" he looked around to make sure none of the guards were listening. "Well, our stash. I can take you with me, but you'll have to wait outside while I look for it."

"Fine. I'll follow your lead, then." He said.

And he did— as Hot Rod wove through town to shake any tails, he found the mech to be just as fast and, he noted with some faint jealousy, far more quiet. He saw the street where he'd taken the hit, remembering the night piece by piece. After he'd gone home, he'd stashed the sword and gone out to find some energon Still, it didn't take long for them to reach the old refinery were Hot Rod and the other outcasts lived. He was about to tell the mech to wait outside when he heard a scream from inside. 

The rushed in together, spying the back of one of the thugs from last night. He was approaching two of the other young outcasts with a sword drawn. 

He reached for his bow, but it was gone. 

"Hey!" Rodimus shouted, running up to the mech. "What's your problem? Swindle's taken to threatening sparklings now?" He spun the mech around.

Something wasn't right. There was a hole in the mech's casing where his spark should of been. His optics were dull and lifeless. 

"Roddy, stay away! He's a sparkeater!" One of the sparklings shouted. 

The sparkeater lunged for him and he raised his hands to hold it at bay. If he could just get the young mechs out of the way, he could flame up and take the thing out. He remembered the other bot. 

"Hey, sword guy! Get the kids out of here!" He shouted, wrestling one of the sparkeater's weird tentacles from his leg. 

"On it!" The mech replied, swiftly picking up the two young mechs and bolting away. 

The sparkeater managed to twist his left arm away from his body with a tentacle and stabbed him in his chassis. The dead mech's face drew close and its mouth opened in a terrible screech. With the last of his strength, he pushed the sparkeater away and climbed the stairs to draw him away from the fleeing mechs. He saw the white mech's sword on the wall by his berth, grabbing it and tossing it out the nearest window.

The sparkeater was on him in an instant and he fired his flames to full power. He could feel the sparkeater's metal claws begin to melt into the armor of his arms as the refinery crumbled around him. The creature let out a horrible metallic screech and brought it's teeth to his neck. 

A beam crashed onto both of them and the world went dark. 

He woke up on an infirmary berth surrounded by a crowd of outcasts. He also had a splitting headache- again - and a sharp pain in his side. 

"Roddy's up!" One of them shouted excitedly. 

"Hot Rod, you all right?" Another one asked.

"All right, all of you, move away. Master Impactor is here." A guard said as he parted the mechs around him.

"Alright, Hot Rod," Impactor said as he stepped into the room and towered over the bed. "What happened? These guys said you were attacked by a sparkeater. That true?"

"Ugh," he groaned. It was the second time in two days he'd woken up like this and he hoped it wasn't turning into a habit. "Whatever it was, it had all kinds of, like, tentacles." He mimicked weakly. "And teeth. I think he was one of Swindle's dudes. Poor guy."

"Yes, poor mech indeed. We found him half-melted into the floor. The doctor even had to scrape some of him off of you. And no, no since lying to us about your outlier abilities… We're gonna have to talk about that later. For now, I'm going to need everyone to clear out. We've got a lot to talk about." He ordered. 

The outcasts hesitated, but Roddy waved them out. He hardly needed them to witness the verbal and possibly physical lashing he was about to receive. He was too tired to make a run for it anyway. 

That tiredness nearly disappeared when Lord Kup himself walked in, along with the swordsmech from the night before. 

"So, you're Hot Rod, huh? I've heard a good bit about you lately. This mech here was asking me up a storm about you after the attack last night. I'm surprised we haven't met."

"I'm surprised you haven't noticed the empty spot on your wall," he said before he could stop himself. 

Him and his big mouth. He always knew his tongue would get him executed. 

But Kup started to laugh. 

"You!?" Impactor stood, energon lines bulging angrily along his armor. "You stole the Portrait of Iacon? That tapestry was priceless!"

"I wouldn't say that," he murmured. 

"Oh, Primus," Kup laughed harder. "Impactor searched the castle for three months thinking it was sabotage. He kept waiting on the ransom note until I told him it was a fake."

"Was it?" Hot Rod asked. "Oh well. Probably a good thing I didn't ask more for it, then."

"Oh, no, don't get me wrong." Kup started. It was a highly valuable replica worth thousands of shanix."

"Oh…"

"I could have you arrested for a long time, Hot Rod, but I've heard a lot about you. You're a troublemaker, a thief, and a damned pest. But I know why you're doing this, Hot Rod. You do it because you care what happens to the outcasts, and it's about time I did, too. That's why you are going to pay me back by working for me."

"What?" Impactor started. "My Lord, you can't be serious." He chuckled nervously.

"Oh, but I am. Impactor, meet your newest squire. Hot Rod, get your stuff packed tonight and come to the castle. Percy will show you around. In the meantime," he continued as he turned from a slack-jawed Roddy. "Impactor, I want you to take Drift here up to the old tower room. He… well, it's a long story, but I think he'll be good to have around. Besides, It'll be nice for Hot Rod to have a roommate for a while."

"You can't be serious." Hot Rod echoed.

"Oh, but he is." Drift said with a smile. "I can't wait to learn more about you, Roddy." 

Hot Rod felt a full body shudder run across his struts.


	12. The Champion of Kaon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Primus can't kill me. He's tried. 
> 
> No Curly Straws Were Harmed in The Making of This Timeline

Six months after Rodimus came to live with Lord Kup, he was made a squire to the Wreckers. Kup, Impactor, Arcee, Broadside, Bulkhead, Perceptor, Sandstorm, Scoop, Whirl… each of them was crazy in their own right and he was beholden to their whims. 

It was the worst. It was also the most fun he'd ever had. 

Even Drift, strange spiritual mech that he was, had since become his amica endura. The first time they'd shared their sparks, they knew everything about each other. 

Hot Rod learned about Wing and Ratchet, and how the mech before Drift was a spoiled, syk-addled noble named Deadlock. He felt Drift's guilt, his shame, his regret, but also his hope. He saw the moment that Wing died, and the time in the medic's clinic in Dead End where Drift fell in love.

Drift learned about Hot Rod and all his mistakes, the pain of not knowing who or what he was. He learned about the heats and all the times mechs had tried to take advantage of him. He felt all the nights that Hot Rod had gone to bed with an empty tank so he could feed the other outcasts. 

Drift was even more protective of him after that. 

But not even Drift could protect him from Impactor's combat training. Hot Rod knew it was necessary, but he couldn't stop the sick feeling in his tanks everytime he want to spar with the big mech. He didn't have anything against Impactor personally. Once he got used to him, he was actually a pretty stand-up guy, but no amount of telling himself that Impactor wouldn't really hurt him allowed him to relax. 

He'd been slammed around enough by horny mechs that a hand in front of his face still sent his processor on the fritz.

"Come on, kid. What are you doing? Dancing? Is dancing going to save you from a thug?" Impactor said as he casually avoided another of Hot Rod's punches.

"No, but if you don't shut your mouth, you're going to find a pede planted firmly inside it." Hot Rod groused, squaring his shoulders back up into a defensive stance and moving away. Impactor was slaggin' fast to a be a mech that size.

Impactor dropped his defensive stance with a sigh. "I'm takin' a break, kid. Why don't you and Arcee practice for a little while? I'll be back in about an hour." He said. 

Hot Rod was pissed. So what if he was a bit defensive? It was a perfectly good way to fight. He kicked the dirt of the training ring in a wide sweep. 

"Slag it," he cursed to himself. He was going to ask Impactor what he was doing wrong this time.

He checked the mess hall first. Empty. The barracks were, too. And his private quarters, the library, and the great hall. 

Finally, he checked Kup's office. That's usually where the two chatted. From the hall he could hear the sound of some quiet conversation. 

"-can't fight him if he's scared pitless every time I come near him, Kup. I feel like total slag. How am I supposed to train him when I can't raise my arms without him panicking?" Impactor said. 

"I didn't know it was that bad," Drift said. "He doesn't have the same problem when we spar. Maybe I should be the one to train. You can teach me whatever you need and I'll show it to Roddy instead?"

"That would be the easiest solution," Perceptor said. "But would it be the best? Hot Rod has this response for a reason— for good reason— and we need to prove to him that he can trust us. Avoiding the issue won't solve it. He needs to be more confident or else he won't develop the clarity he needs in a real fight."

"Percy is right." Kup finally said. "We can't just avoid Hot Rod. For now, Drift, it might be best if you do spar with him alone, but it'll be better for him in the long run if he can get a handle on his fear. You're all good mechs, and he's as brave and strong as any of you. We're family. I want him to feel safe here, understood?"

"Yes, sir," the mechs around him agreed.

"Lord Kup?" Drift interjected.

"Yes, Drift?" 

"I believe Hot Rod was standing at the door the whole time." 

"Of course he was," Kup sighed. 

"He reminds me of Springer." Perceptor said. 

"Speaking of," Impactor added, "how is he? Have we had any more updates on him?"

"Rotorstorm has apparently taken him 'underwing.'" Kup answered.

"Oh, Primus, Rotorstorm?" Impactor winced. "Couldn't he have picked anyone else to apprentice under? Please, I know we promised no contact, but   
this is an emergency."

"I know you're joking, Impactor, but this is serious. This is his first chance to move up in Vosian society. If he does well, this can get him out of the Rust Belt for good. I know Rotor is a bit… left-field, but he has a good position at the Vosian Academy and Springer needs that leg up right now."

"I wish we could have figured out who his creator was." Drift sighed. "Even Wing couldn't find out anything."

"Well, there's not much point in wondering anymore. It's Springer's life. He can do whatever he wants and as long as he's safe and far away from the Silver Spark Collective, I don't care."

"The Council certainly has its hands full right now, doesn't it?" Impactor questioned. "I hear Shockwave and Proteus have been deployed to Helex and Tarn. Things must be getting rough. It's only a matter of time before they draft us into this nonsense. How did such a crazy cult get so big right under our noses?"

"The Empire has been falling apart for years. You and I both warned Sentinel that the cult was getting more violent, but he didn't listen. They're only just now realizing how much it's hurting Iacon to lose their energon supply. Speaking of, Impactor, I think it's time you took a trip to see that old friend of yours."

There was a knock at the door. 

"Yes?" Kup asked.

"Oi Kup, it's Whirl. I think Rodders has like, gone to start a fight at a bar or something."

"You think? What gives you that idea?" Percy asked. 

"Oh, he told me. He said, "Whirl, I'm going to beat up one of the mechs I used to know so I can stop thinking about it. Don't tell Kup."

"Wow, what made you decide to tell us?" Impactor asked. 

"He told me not to. He also handed me fifteen shanix. Everyone knows you don't go less than twenty when you're trying to bribe someone. Friends don't get discounts." Whirl answered. 

"You charge me fifty," Impactor said. 

"Nemeses get upcharged." Whirl responded. 

"Alright." Kup sighed. "Come on, Drift, you too, Impactor. Let's see if we make it in time to prevent too much trouble."

"Don't bet on that. Roddy is very good at starting fights when he's in the mood for it." Drift said. 

"I know. He just can't keep relying on anger alone." Kup said. "Same bar as usual, I'm guessing?"

"He wouldn't bother trying anywhere else." Drift said. 

They were wrong. Tonight, Hot Rod was finally going to go the one mech who'd done him worse than all the rest. 

His name was Hightop, a minor noble of some sort, and he was the first mech that taught Hot Rod the meaning of betrayal. 

He thought he had made a friend until Hot Rod didn't give him what he wanted. Then the kindness was gone. Hightop and his friends cracked his armor and tossed him aside like a piece of scrap. 

Hot Rod would show him. Impactor was right. How could he learn to fight if he couldn't learn to control his fear? 

What better way to get it out of his system than to confront the bastard face to face?

The ritzy uptown tavern that he'd been banned from for six lifetimes was slow that night that even the bouncers were gone. 

But Hightop was there, as usual, buried in a shot of strong engex. Perfect. Hot Rod would do what he did best: escalation.

He slid into the empty seat beside Hightop, rested his head on his hand and waited for the mech to notice him.

He didn't even turn his head, which was pretty rude, in Hot Rod's opinion. 

"Hightop. How's it hanging?" He asked.

"Slag off, Hot Rod. I don't care. Go bother someone else." Hightop responded. 

"What? No. You're supposed to be much angrier. How am I supposed to start a fight with you if you don't throw the first punch?" Hot Rod demanded.

"I said I don't care." Hightop snarled, but he let his head sink further until it rested on the counter. "You wanna fight, pick someone else."

"What's your deal, man? You used to jump at the chance to whale on me and you're turning the other cheek just now? That's not fair." Hot Rod said, growing more and more frustrated. "You treated me like Pit for years. You beat me and the other outcasts up for fun. I have nightmares about you."

"And?" Hightop responded. "You're not worth shit. What do I care if you got your 'feewings' hurt, huh? I don't give a single scrap about you, so buzz off. I'm too fuckin' tired and too fuckin' drunk to worry about some shareware like you, okay?" He said.

How was Hot Rod supposed to react to this? He expected violence. Anger. Hell, he would have been glad to accept an apology and gone home and gotten Drift all fuzzy-fuzzy with the power of forgiveness. This was maddening. He wanted to drag him into the street and show him the pain that he'd been given. He wanted revenge. He wanted to fix the fear inside himself. It wasn't fair that he had to be scared of mechs when the one who taught him that fear could still sleep nice and sound with the knowledge that he had ruined Hot Rod's life. 

The acrid smell of melting paint filled his nose. His pulled his hand away. 

Kup, Impactor, and Drift charged into the bar at that moment. Hot Rod met Kup's eyes, looking for disappointment, for fear, for anger. All he found was concern. 

The anger melted off of his frame, leaving only a bitter, frigid sadness in its wake. Drift had pulled him into his arms in an instant and half carried him out the door. 

"Impactor, I think you should take the two of them with you to Kaon Island."

"Kup, you know I can't do that. It's dangerous. If something happened to them…" Impactor argued.

"Hot Rod needs a chance to see the world while he can. Nyon is too small to be trapped in forever. Go find them. You'll leave tonight." he commanded.

"What?!" Impactor said, flabbergasted. "There's no way we can leave that soon!"

"Loom at the hill past the gate." Kup said, gesturing towards one of the tavern windows. "That's the Imperial Draft."

"But they didn't send word!" Impactor said. "What are they doing here?"

"Nothing good, I'm certain. Find them, take as much shanix as you need, and go. If they see you, we're all in trouble. Arcee is in the castle, tell her to get everyone together and meet me by the gate. Good luck on your journey, my friend. I'll see you in a few months." Kup said, patting Impactor on the shoulder plates. 

"Be safe, my lord." Impactor said, giving Kup a quick hug. "I mean it."

Impactor raced back to the castle to do as his lord commanded, taking off into the night with the two speedsters as Kup and the Wreckers met the Imperial Guard at the gates. 

He probably should have anticipated how many questions Hot Rod could ask in the two weeks it took for non-fliers to reach Kaon Island.

"So, Impactor, who is this friend of yours again?" Hot Rod asked.

"His name is Megatron," Impactor aaid. "He's a miner from Tarn. He's also a gladiator, from what I hear these days."

"So he's a runaway." Drift said. 

"Yeah, and I'd like to keep it that way. Megatron has been through more than any mech I know and that's how he ended up on Kaon. The both of you need to be extra careful there. It's an island of pirates, slums, brothels, you name it. The Council's hold is weak there, but there are still plenty of slavers and slave catchers just waiting for the chance to catch you off guard."

"What? Didn't the Council declare slavery a crime just the last solar cycle?" Hot Rod asked.

"It depends how you define slave. You have to be considered a person to be a slave. A tool will always be just a tool. Besides," Impactor continued. "This world is a lot bigger and a lot nastier than the Council would like you to believe. Better you find that out now."

The ship to Kaon Island was rickety at best and full of shoddily repaired cannonball holes in at worst, but after a week of alternating between long drives and even longer root mode walking, it was near paradise. Nearly.

"So how did the two of you meet?" Hot Rod asked Impactor when darkness fell and they crowded into their leaky bunk in the lower deck. "Were you a slave, too?"

"For a time, yes. Megatron was built by Sentinel, and I was built by Ratbat. We worked in the same mine for a while. He was so… different, even then. Kind and hopeful and way too smart for his own good. Terminus and I did our best to keep him out of trouble, but it always found him anyway." Impactor sighed. "Ratbat was despicable, but in time I earned my freedom. I found out that Sentinel was going to have Megatron shadowplayed, so I helped him and Terminus escape. Sentinel never said anything to anyone about it, Primus knows why. I think it embarrassed him."

"What's shadowplay?" Hot Rod asked. 

"Primus, I forget you're just a youngspark sometimes. Shadowplay is… it's the worst thing you can do to a mech. These mnemosurgeons take these long needles and play with your head. They can delete memories, change them, make you do things against your will. They can put thoughts in your head, even fake memories. Slavers do it to make mechs easier to control. You gotta be careful who you let near your helm, okay?"

"Do you… do you think that might be why I don't remember anything before Nyon? Do you think somebody messed with my head?"

Impactor looked at him in the dim light of the ship cabin. "I don't know, kid. I'm sorry. I know it doesn't help much, but you know we care about you, alright? You're safe with us now. That's all that matters."

"Yeah," Hot Rod said. Nerves still churned his tank, but he knew Impactor cared. Kup, too. The Wreckers were his family now and that was good enough for him. 

They arrived in the Northeast Port of the island two days later. It was early in the morning as Hot Rod and Drift followed Impactor through the quickly awakening streets. 

"Everyone seems to get up pretty early here," Drift commented.

"It's because there's the big fight today. People come here from across Cybertron to watch the champion put down his monthly challengers."

"Cool," Hot Rod said. "I've always wanted to see the Gladiator fights! Any idea who the champ is?"

"Yeah," Impactor said, turning the corner and entering a large tavern. He pointed to the noisiest table in the room. "It's him." 

Sitting there was a large, handsome silver mech with smiling red optics. He had notes scattered across the tabletop and was engaged in vigorous hand-waving discussion with a few old mechs sitting across from him. 

Impactor smiled and crept up behind the table before suddenly lifting the silver mech from behind. 

"Gotcha, Megatron!" He said. "If you're this easy in the ring today, you're toast!"

"Impactor, my friend!" Megatron laughed. "It's good to see you again!"

"It's good to see you, too. And you, Terminus." He added. "These two mechs are some young friends of mine. Megatron, Terminus, meet young Hot Rod and Drift."

"Nice to meet both of you," Megatron returned, reaching his hand out to shake the two speedsters'. "Have you all come to see my fight today?"

"Frag yeah!" Hot Rod said. "Aren't you the one that took down the old champion in like two minutes flat?"

"Ha!" Terminus laughed. "He wishes! Overlord knocked the tar out of him for half an hour before he got his slag together. I told him that's what got for trying to go easy on that crazy-afted guy."

"I'm afraid we're here for other reasons, Megatron. We need to talk somewhere private."

"Very well," Megatron said. "I've got a few hours before the fight. Just let me gather my notes and I'll show you to the apartment." 

The 'apartment' that Megatron showed them to was a glorified cubicle. A purple cubicle.

"This is… nice?" Hot Rod offered. "Very purple."

"Thank you." Megatron said. "It's my favorite color."

The five of them gathered around Megatron's small table. Impactor minced no words. 

"Tarn and Helex are in trouble and Kup thinks Kaon might be next."

"I know," Megatron said. 

"You know?" Impactor responded blankly. "What do you mean?"

"The Silver Spark Collective has been blowing up refineries and mines for months now. It doesn't surprise me that you're only just learning about it."

"Aren't you worried that Kaon could be next? This is the last place the Council would be willing to protect." Impactor asked.

"That's exactly why they won't do anything here." Megatron answered. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying there isn't a possibility, but Tarn and Helex were struck precisely because the Council wanted them to believe it didn't matter. Whoever is leading the cultists knows that it's all an act. Kaon doesn't have any of those resources. If they attack us here, they'd be doing the Empire a favor. It's perfect for us, Impactor. This is the chance we've been waiting for! With the refugees coming in and the Council's back turned, we can finally lead the rebellion against the Empire!"

"I… I can't fight your logic, Megatron. I can only pray you're right. If anyone can do it, it's you." Impactor said, offering his hand to his old friend. "You're far better than any of the rest of us deserve."

"I owe you my freedom, brother, and I want to share that gift with all of Cybertron. This is my only chance. I can't run away from it now. We can make things right. We can help these people." 

"And we will," Terminus said. "But first, we've got to finish this speech, metalhead. Why don't you three wait about an hour and then go find some seats at the arena? Find a big red bot named Pulsar and tell him I sent you. He'll get you a good spot."

Pulsar certainly did. They were situated in one of the viewboxes, low enough to the pit that they easily could have been splashed by a spray of purple transfluid. 

It wasn't long before the preliminary entertainment began. 

First were the new fighters, quick to knock each other out long before the battle got really interesting. Then came the more experienced battlers. They bore scars and discolored appendages alike. They were quick to dismantle each other— ultimately, the dismemberment was harmless with the right medic, but it was certainly more entertaining. 

Finally, it was time for the Champion to face the winning challenger. 

"Mechs of and Mecha of Cybertron!" The announcer called. "Are you ready to meet your champions?"

The crowd roared. 

"Today, we welcome the challenge of this mech! He's as merciless as they come, killing every mech he's battled against! Could he be a new Overlord? Will tonight be the night we meet our new Champion? Everyone, welcome Challenger Glitch to the arena!"

A large rust-orange mech entered the field to the crowd's applause, bowing gracefully as a purple cape billowed beside him.

"And the mech you've all been waiting for! Our two-year reigning gladiator! Our orator extraordinaire! The mech to end all mechs! This is our Champion, Megatron!"

The rumble of cheers and shouts shook the arena itself as Megatron entered the field in his red Tarnish warpaint.

"Fighters! To your marks!"

They met in the middle of the field, facing one another across the faded line drawn in the sand.

"Draw your weapons!" 

Megatron drew his famed great sword, Nemesis, from the sheathe on his back. The large black blade carved deep into the ground as he dropped the impossibly heavy blade beside him. 

Glitch's cloak fell away and he pulled two swords from his sides. With a quick flourish, he took a defensive stance. 

"Begin!"

From this close, the force of the clanging of blade on blade rattled Hot Rod's denta. The strength behind their blows was unreal. Megatron slammed Nemesis down with enough force that it seemed to rock the stands, or maybe it was just the force with which the crowd rioted around him. 

Glitch was good, meeting Megatron strike for strike with his two smaller swords. He was undoubtedly faster with his weapons, sliding Nemesis off again and again and still managing to slice at him in between. 

"Damn it!" Terminus shouted. Hot Rod hadn't even noticed the old mech sliding into the seat beside him. "That mech's too fast for Nemesis. He's going to have to go for servo-to-servo if this keeps up!"

"No!" Impactor said. "Glitch is gonna be too hard to disarm. He needs the shielding or he's going to get cut to ribbons."

Hot Rod followed Megatron's movements as close as he could. Some of the moves,he recognized. Impactor had the same way of moving. Megatron was deceptively fast, frame appearing weightless as he twisted each part of his body in near independence to dodge attack after attack as if he could see it before it happened. Every move was calculated and executed with precision and power. He wasn't just dodging and attacking Glitch; he was learning. 

Hot Rod switched his optics back to Glitch. The way he moved was odd, at first, but now he could see it. Glitch was trying to mirror Megatron's fighting style, that was obvious, but Glitch was observing Megatron, too. Each thrust got a little closer to home, every dodge a little bit smoother. But it didn't explain why he seemed to be moving faster until Hot Rod realized that Megatron had begun to slow.

Glitch started to press his advantage, outright dodging Megatron's attacks and coming closer and closer to his armor as he pushed him towards the box. 

They were close enough now that Hot Rod could hear Glitch speaking.

"Is this really all you've got, Megatron? What happened to the champion of Kaon?" The mech laughed as one of his swords struck an energon line deep in Megatron's arm. "This is easy! You're easy! Come on, Megatron, fight back! Fight back so you can give your little speech! Oh, I love it when you give speeches! I could listen to that voice of yours for hours. I have!"

Megatron narrowly missed another swipe. He was forced to pull Nemesis up with both arms to block as Glitch leapt upwards and slammed both swords downward. The force ricocheted into his damaged arm and he grunted in pain as he was forced to drop Nemesis. 

"Megatron! No!" Terminus shouted, scrabbling to try and climb over the railing to protect Megatron. 

"It's alright, Terminus," Megatron called to him. "I've got him right where I want him."

Then he reached up and crushed Glitch's throat with one hand.

"What?" Glitch's vocalizer struggled to hiss. He jumped backwards. 

"I do hate the whole 'two swords' thing," Megatron said, standing back to his feet and lifting Nemesis in his good hand.

"H-h-hey!" Glitch shouted, voicebox fritzing. "That's cheat-t-ting!"

"And talking your opponents to death isn't?"

Glitch seemed taken aback by the accusation. 

"Thatz-" he reset his vocalizer again, to no avail, "Thatz not true-ue-ue."

"Then come on, Glitch, where are you running to? Fight me. Where's all that spark gone?" Megatron asked, dragging Nemesis through the sand as he moved towards glitch. 

Glitch raised his swords again and charged forward with a snarl. 

Megatron batted him away with ease, sending him to the ground. Glitch stood and charged again. This time, Megatron cleaved his hands. 

Glitch fell to the ground. 

"Pl-please, M-Megatron, be reasonable?" He begged. 

"Certainly. I can be as reasonable as you were, Glitch." Megatron said, and then he drove Nemesis straight through the mech and into the ground behind him.

"Megatron triumphs again!" The announcer shouted. The crowd went wild, filling the air with a thousand cheers that were then silenced by a single wave from the silver gladiator.

"Mechs of Cybertron! The time has come to put our differences aside! As brothers, as sisters, as disposables and nobles alike, we can bring forth a new, equal society where form and function are not intertwined. No mech deserves to be a slave! No mech deserves to have their life decided for them!"

Hot Rod hoped that both Megatron would survive long enough to see that dream come true. 

He, Drift, and Impactor stayed on Kaon for another few weeks without much trouble. 

Until Hot Rod's heat started, at least. 

Terminus, much to Hot Rod's surprise, was once a heatmech himself. 

"The coding kind of shuttered itself down about 300 years ago for me," he laughed. "Thank Primus it's over. I'm surprised you were built with it, kid. They haven't made many mechs with the protocols in 50 or so years. Even forged mechs tend to get it patched out before it sets in. But don't feel bad about it, Hot Rod. Even Megatron has his ruts."

He gave Hot Rod some heating berth pads for the cramps, some mulled engex for the nausea, and recommended a few... accessories that might help him through the heat. He even showed him a few sensitive areas to hit that would even send a rut-addled mech to the ground, much to Megatron's displeasure.

"Still, I'm surprised they didn't teach you much about this where you were sparked. Where'd you say you were from, kid?"

"I'm not sure." Hot Rod answered. "All I remember is the first time the coding hit and I knew my… function."

"Hey, hey, none of that. That's what we're fighting against here. What you want from life is all that matters, kid. Nothing else. You don't owe anybody a damned thing, you hear me?" Terminus said. "Not a damned thing."

Maybe he could stay here, Hot Rod thought. Join up with Megatron and Terminus and fight the good fight. 

He didn't get the chance to ask Impactor. The day his heat ended, Impactor received a message from Kup. 

"Pack up, fellas. It's time to go home." Impactor said. 

Hot Rod always wished he could have been struck by something in that moment, that he could have warned himself or Megatron or Impactor about the death that was coming for them all. 

But how could anyone have known that the seven-year Silver War that had started on the fringes of Cybertron would cripple Tarn, ravage Helex, and raze Nyon to the ground? That Megatron's fledgling rebellion had to survive alone against Cultists, Sparkeaters, and even their own while the rich pricks in Iacon feasted?

The Council knew. His holiness Sentinel Prime knew. All the nobles that fled in the night, leaving Nyon and Vos and even defenseless against that last onslaught, all of them knew. 

Hot Rod still blamed himself. 

After all, he started the blaze, didn't he? What would Megatron and Terminus have said to that?


	13. Shockwave: Senator, General, Traitor

Shockwave was a senator, a general, a Lord of Iacon, a mildly successful tactician, and a very indulgent patron of the arts. He prided himself on being the most hated by his fellow senators and the most beloved by his people. He had been described as caring, empathetic, warm, compassionate, a workaholic, and was secretly voted to be the most likely mech to be secretly murdered by the Council's secret police. He himself had voted against his own chances each year. 

But what any mech who had known him for any considerable length of time knew is that he did not appreciate being woken up early from recharge. Ever. 

Especially when, earlier that day, he had been ordered to withdraw the remainder of his troops away from Helex's westernmost border, just a few kliks away from where the peninsula approached the small Kingdom of Nyon. If the Lord of Nyon had asked the senate and the Council for help, they certainly hadn't deemed to share that information with him. 

For six years he'd fought against the Silver Spark Collective and their waves of Sparkeaters. He liked to think he was experienced enough to sense that Iacon was gearing up for a retreat.

He wasn't a fool. He knew the danger Nyon was in, and he knew that the Council didn't care in the slightest. Nyon was doomed, and legally, his hands were tied. It didn't make him feel too indulgent when the deaths of hundreds could be on his head by the next morning. 

So when two legionaries dragged a soldier into his tent in the middle of the night in order to face questioning—for trying to sneak out of camp with his unit in the middle of the night, no less, he was perhaps a little less understanding than he otherwise might have been. With a wave, the legionaries roughly dropped the cuffed mech to the ground and stepped out of the tent. 

"What's your name, soldier?" Shockwave asked gruffly.

"Pax, Ser. Orion Pax."

"Well, Pax, any excuses as to why you and your men were caught sneaking out of camp at 0100 hours? Going to meet a pretty sparkeater out there under the moonlight?" 

"No, sir. We… It was my fault, sir. I ordered my unit to follow me out of camp."

"And why in the world would you do that?"

"We were going to Nyon, sir."

"Nyon?" He asked, feigning disinterest as he sat back against his berth. "Not the nicest place to desert to, is it? Why go there?"

"With all due respect, sir, I think you know."

Shockwave bristled at the thinly laced accusation, but he couldn't blame the mech. "Watch your mouth, soldier. You're here because you've been accused of treason. You know the punishment enforced by the Council." He stood and walked over to the mech, kneeling down to look at him optic-to-optic. The blue mech's eyes were beautiful, bright like a spark. "I know what you're thinking. I agree with you. Nyon is in trouble, but there's nothing we can do, Pax. The Council has ordered us to stay in Helex. The Lord of Nyon is smart. He'll make sure his people get to Helex before the city falls." He said, wishing he could believe his own words. 

"Will he? Do you think the Council has warned them about what's coming? Do you think anyone has given them the slightest warning about what's coming? Helex has us. Nyon has no one. Send me. Send my men. We can help. They can deal with us after."

"What you're saying is treason to the Council, soldier. I could have you institutionalized or worse just for speaking like that." He warned, standing back up. He kept his field close to his body, careful not to let the soldier sense his own feelings. The other mech's was an open wavelength of honesty. It was refreshing.

"You could, but I've seen the way you treat your men. How they all look up to you. You care about us, about Cybertron. You might be the only one who does, and I'm sorry, but I'm going to Nyon even if I have to fight you to do it. Thousands of innocents could die! Let us help them escape, please." The mech begged. 

Shockwave had already made his decision. 

For the first time in a thousand years, this mech had managed to make his spark race. He was brave. He was honest. He was- Shockwave noticed with interest as the blue mech started to strain against the cuffs and they began to crack- strong. 

He would do. 

"Stop." He commanded, moving forward quickly to deactivate the cuffs. He pulled the shocked mech to his feet. "Take your unit, go find a doctor named Ratchet in the medical tent. Take him and any bots you trust with your spark and go. At 0400 there's a lapse between the guard shifts. If you get caught, I can't protect you." He whispered, pulling the mech to the back of his tent. "So don't get caught."

"Thank you, sir." He said, still lost in shock.

"Save as many as you can," Shockwave ordered, pushing the soldier out into the dark camp. "Good luck, Orion Pax."

Shockwave was a senator, a general, and a good mech at spark.

To the rest of the senate, and to the council, he was a traitor. His days were always numbered.


	14. Ratchet the Hatchet

Sometimes, when he pulled his energon-stained hands from the otherwise colorless body of another dead mech, he considered going home and having a big bottle of high-grade all to himself. 

But then he thought about him. The young mech who came to him when he was stationed in Dead End of Polyhex. There wasn't anything unusual about him. He was addicted to Syk, like the rest of the empties and disposables that the Council ignored. 

_

"What's your name, kid?" 

"... Hardhead." the young mech answered.

"Your real name. What next, kid, gonna tell me you aren't addicted to Syk? I can tell from the shakes. Your armor is brittle over your right shoulder circuits. Your spark is arrhythmic. You got a bad booster and you need it out before it kills you. Come on kid, just tell the truth so I can help you."

"I… it's Drift. My name is Drift." The mech answered, rubbing a servo along the back of his helm. 

"Thank you, Drift. Now let's get that booster out of you before it fries you like an energon crepe…" 

He instructed Drift to lay down and open his shoulder plating. As he brought his tools to the Syk-circuit, he could see the burned wiring where the mech had attached boosters in the past. 

Ratchet found most Syk addicts were more than willing to open up to someone, anyone if given the chance. Cynicism be damned, he couldn't deny that it pained him to see mechs this way. He had been there, a long time ago. He still drank engex like it was breathing. 

"So why the Syk, kid? What started it?" He asked. "Careful, this might sting." He warned, beginning to cut the wiring from the booster to the mech's shoulder circuitry.

Drift didn't answer right away. For a few moments, he simply grimaced as Ratchet carefully detached another wire. He turned to Ratchet with a carefully neutral expression. 

"What do you know about Father Atlas? Or Father Wing?" The mech asked him. 

"The Spectralist preachers? Not much. I don't care much for religion. From what I heard, least Atlas was a good mech. Did a lot to help Rodion, helped set up this clinic a long time before I got here. Shame what happened to him. Why do you ask? Were you friends?" 

"They were my teachers. Wing… he helped me find a better path than the one I was on. Helped me see that there were mechs out there I could help, I could save people instead of just sitting on my hands and watching. I was part of a system that treated mechs… we call them disposables." His vocalizer cracked. "How was that right? I couldn't take it. I did Syk, I found nucleon, whatever made it so I didn't have to think or feel about what was happening. But Wing and Atlas made me change. They showed me how to help people. And now they're gone, and I couldn't help them. I couldn't save anyone. And I had to… just for a little while, I had to stop it. I had to. I can't take it. I keep… I keep thinking about going to one of the institutes and just letting them erase it all. I'm just so scared. I'm a coward. The minute I learned what happened, I went out and found Syk. And now it's killing me and I'm scared about that, too. I..." the mech hiccupped, breaking out into hysterical laughter that quickly turned into wailing sobs. 

Ratchet threw his tools aside and pulled the weeping mech up by his good shoulder. 

"Now you listen to me, Drift. It's a good thing that you're scared. You damn well should be. This Syk is killing you. It will kill you if you don't stop. You said your friends helped you before, well listen to me now. I know it's tough out there, kid. I see bots suffering like you every day and it's my job to patch them up again just so they can go back out there and try to kill themselves all over again. Don't," he said, more softly now. "You said your friends saved you before? Don't throw your life away. Think about them. They'd want you to keep trying, kid. You've got a great spark and that's why it's so hard, but if you try, I know you can do great things. Cybertron needs mechs like you, Drift. I need mechs like you out there fighting for a change, not here, dying on my table! Give yourself a second chance, Drift. When you go home, don't look for Syk. Pack. Pack and get the hell out of here and find someone who needs you and help them no matter what, do you understand?"

Drift could only nod, solvent tears running down his face as he clutched at Ratchet in a desperate hug. 

Ratchet held onto him in return… for a moment. With a pat on the mech's back, he gently pulled away.

"Now lie back down. I could feel your spark beating three times too fast and it's starting to concern me. Let's get that booster out."

_

"Ratchet?" A voice called from the open flap of his square medical tent. 

Ratchet unsteepled his hands and sat up straight at his makeshift desk. "What is it, Pharma?" 

"A soldier wants to speak to you. Said his name is Orion Pax. Orders from General Shockwave. I need to go switch with Ambulon. Should I…?"

"Just wave him in. Oh, and good work today, Pharma. Get some rest." 

Pharma nodded and turned with a smile. If Ratchet hadn't been around the weird mech for so long, he'd question why the mech practically skipped away. As it was, he still wasn't the strangest medical officer he had ever encountered. First Aid had some weird habits, too.

He was certainly getting there, though. 

A few moments later, a large blue officer mech stepped into the tent. 

"What do you need?" Ratchet asked warily, already pulling up one of the supply bins behind his desk. Soldiers always needed the same things. Welding jobs, medical grade energon, wire grafts. It was easy to hurt someone with a blade by accident; easier still to hurt yourself. 

"I need to speak to you with privately, sir. It's… confidential."

That got his attention, but it was still late. He didn't have the patience to tiptoe around with another flustered soldier who'd done something he shouldn't have.

"As a medical officer, all my talks with patients are confidential, soldier. It's part of the job."

The mech shuffled awkwardly.

Ratchet sighed dramatically, adding "But if someone overhearing you is your concern, don't worry about it. Pharma was the last one on shift tonight. It's just me."

"Very well. I'll be brief, Doctor. I'm going to Nyon, and Senator Shockwave suggested I ask you to come along. Now, I know it's in direct violation of the Council's orders, so-"

He was interrupted by a case of medical supplies being tossed at him from across the room. 

"Finally." Ratchet groused. "I was worried I'd have to go by myself. Take those, head out to the western field. I'll fetch Ambulon and First Aid and we'll meet you there. We don't have much time, so if we're not there in half an hour, go without us."

"Are you sure about this? This is treason, Ratchet. I don't want to-" 

"Damn what the Council says! Nyon is about to face the full assault of an army of Sparkeaters and all we can do now is get as many as we can out of that deathtrap alive! Quit your chattering and Go! Now!" He commanded. 

Orion nodded, flicked out the tent, and disappeared. 

Ratchet glanced onto his desk where Pharma had left a small bottle of high-grade engex. 

Ratchet had drowned his many sorrows in engex once. Sometimes it seemed like there was so much pain in the world that the only difference between the living and the dead was the sound of crying.

Then he met Drift. He remembered why he became a medic, why he chose to work in that Dead End clinic, why he requested to be assigned to the war-ravaged Helex. 

He didn't drink engex alone anymore because he knew that it was love that had caused him so much pain. A love of people, of life, of joy, and others' happiness. Drinking numbed the pain. It quieted his hungry heart, but at what cost?

Without love, there is no meaning. 

Because of Drift, Ratchet had meaning.

He packed one last bag of supplies and raced off to find his two assistants.


	15. ...And Dust to Dust

"No!" Drift screamed, practically throwing himself out of his and Hot Rod's shared berth. 

"Huh? What? Who's there?" Hot Rod shouted, now half-awake. He looked around in the darkness as his optics onlined. "Drift? You alright?" He asked groggily. 

"Roddy, get up! Get up now!" He demanded, pulling his amica out of the bed. "I've had a vision! Nyon's in trouble."

Hot Rod knew his amica endura well enough to know it wasn't a dream. He could feel Drift's desperate fear in his field and across the bond. Drift grabbed his swords on his way out the door. Hot Rod grabbed his bow. 

"What is it?" He asked Drift as he chased him to Kup's suite. "Is it the Empire? The Collective?"

"It's the sparkeaters, Roddy. The Collective's coming here and hey're going to burn Nyon to the ground." Drift said. He banged his fists on Kup's door until the old mech got up and opened it. 

"By the spires, kid, what? What time is it?" Kup asked as he reset his optics in the dark. 

"They're coming, Kup. The Sparkeaters are coming! Thousands of them! In my vision, I saw them. The Empire's not coming."

"Slag!" Kup shouted, slamming a fist into the wall. "I knew those rich cowards left the border for a reason! Diplomacy my ass! Slag!" He cursed again. "Did you see when, Drift? How much time do we have to prepare? Did you see anything that could help us?" 

"I- I don't know, I- there was fire everywhere. I couldn't see through the smoke. It was night, no clouds… the moon... It was during a full moon!"

Together they looked out the window in the hall. The moon was bright and full and in the distance, and just coming into view like a wave on the distant sea was a tide of silver and red. 

"That's them," Drift whispered. "Can't you smell it? Fire and blood and metal."

"Listen to me, you too," Kup said, suddenly calm. "Hot Rod, light all the emergency beacons. Drift, go sound the alarms. I want both of you to head to the East Gate and pull out as many people as you can, understood? I'll draw them to the castle."

"What about you, Kup?" Hot Rod asked. "We can't just leave you here."

"I've got a plan, Rod, just get everyone out, alright?"

The two speedsters transformed and raced off separate ways into the night. Hot Rod blazed past each of the beacons spread around the walls of the city, spewing flames from his tires to light each one. The alarm bell rang loud and clear in the still, quiet night. The speedsters met back in Central Square, where they were soon joined by Arcee as they began to guide the confused fleeing mechs to the Eastern Gate. 

Screams echoed on the far side by the Western wall. 

The Sparkeaters were already in the city. 

By the time the three mechs had cleared the third street of refugees, the sounds of screeching metal sounded just behind them. More screams echoed in the night. 

"Oi, guys!" Whirl called from above as he flew overhead, "Percy and Impactor need some help in the South End! Hot Rod, Kup needs you at the castle! They're getting swamped! I'll keep the peeps going out here. You gotta move!"

"I'll going" Hot Rod shouted, already transforming. "Arcee, you and Drift go help Percy!"

He raced through the city, past fleeing bots and crumbling buildings as the Silver Collective began to rain catapult fire over the city.

The castle was surrounded. Sparkeaters scaled the building, screeching as they climbed over one another in their attempts to breach the front door. 

Bang. Bang. Bang. 

Hot Rod drove around to the back, busting through an old shed and down into the old service tunnel that led underneath the castle. He charged into the castle hall where Kup, Sandstorm, Broadside, Scoop, and dozens of guards and frightened civilians were barricading the door with anything they could find. 

"Hot Rod!" Kup shouted. "How is it out there?"

"It's bad, Kup. We managed to clear about half of town, but there's still mechs trapped inside their homes. We need more time. If we could just get some reinforcements, maybe-"

"There is no time. Nobody is coming, Hot Rod. The Council left us to die on purpose. There's only one thing left we can do." Kup said. "Broadside, Scoop, go set the final the charges."

"Yes, sir," the Wreckers saluted. 

"What do you mean? What do you mean charges?" Hot Rod demanded. "Kup, what are you planning?"

The ceiling began to crumble as catapulted stones bashed into the side, knocking aside the climbing Sparkeaters only so a dozen more could take their place. 

Kuo grabbed him by the shoulders. 

"Listen, kid, Broad and Scoop are gonna rig the city to blow and I need you out there to detonate it."

"What? Are you crazy? I'm not blowing anything up! There's still people trapped inside-"

"Look me in the optics, kid, and tell me you have a better idea. You've seen a sparkeater and lived to tell the tale. It's a hell of a way to go. Besides, Impactor and everyone else have probably gotten everybody out by now."

"But… what about you? I can't just light up the Castle with you inside."

"Don't worry, kid. We'll be fine. We can take the escape tunnel right before they break in. Besides," he said. "If anyone here wants to… go with you to help, that's fine, too."

Everyone in the hall was quiet for a moment. 

"It's alright, Hot Rod." Someone finally said. Hot Rod turned to look at her. She was one of the artists who lived in town. "It's our duty to protect the others. I'm not a fighter, but I am a Nyonian. I'll stay with Lord Kup to make sure nothing happens to him. We'll be fine, I promise."

"Yeah." A voice agreed.  
"Course we will!" Another said.   
"No matter what!" Someone cheered.

They all decided to stay with Kup. 

Kup grabbed his hand and placed something into Hot Rod's servos. It was a bomb. 

"I wanted to save these for the rebellion, but right now, it's the only hope for Nyon. I know it's a lot to ask, Hot Rod. You have to be strong." Kup said. "The whole city is rigged from underneath. As soon as you see Sandstorm's signal, you've gotta light this sucker up and throw it into the old energon well in the Center Square, then you gotta haul aft to the Eastern Gate, alright? We'll meet you there as soon as we get out. And Hot Rod- you're in charge until I see you again."

"Alright, Kup. Are you sure you'll all be okay?" Hot Rod asked. 

"Yes. Now go. Wait for the signal… and be safe. I love ya like my own little spark, you little idjit." Kuo smiled. "Till all are one!"

"And I love you, too, you ancient bucket of bolts." Hot Rod said. "Till all are one!" He called back. 

Then he was off. 

"I'm gonna miss that kid." Kup sighed. 

"Me, too." said the mecha from before. "I think you made the right choice, Kup. He'll be a great leader someday."

"He already is," Kup said, drawing his sword as the main hall door cracked open and a sparkeater dove it's head into the gap.

Hot Rod raced to the center square, dodging debris and churning an inferno of flame under his wheels to keep the sparkeaters off his tail. He drove a flaming ring around the well to keep them back as he ran to well and waited for the signal. 

A blue flare screamed into the night air above the old bank.

He lit the bomb's fuse with quick snap, tossed it into the well, and took off like a turbofox out of Hell. He skidded to a stop on a hill outside of town and watched as a sudden shockwave rocked the castle before a blast shot through the ground and carved through the town. 

Nyon—and the horde of Sparkeaters scattering away into the forest— was painted in a swathe of orange and red as columns of smoke poured from the shattered remains of the castle. 

Impactor drove up behind him. 

"I'm sorry, Hot Rod. I know it's not easy." He said.

"Yeah. Home's gone. But it's not so bad, right? Kup can find us somewhere to go. Almost everybody made it out safe thanks to him."

"Frag, kid. He didn't tell you, did he?" Impactor said. His voice box was going haywire. Hot Rod turned to loom at him. 

He was crying. 

"Rodimus," a voice whispered in the back of his head.

"What do you mean? What didn't he tell me, Impactor?" Hot Rod asked. He tried to sound fine. Kup wouldn't lie to him. Kup was fine. He had to be. 

He saw a castle turret fall a second before the sound reached his audials. 

"Roddy," that voice tried again.

What had he done?

"I'm sorry, Hot Rod," he said, and pulled the speedster into a tight hug. 

"Rodders? Hey, wake up!" The voice demanded. 

He shot awake. When had he fallen asleep? He was still in the window where he had been watching the snow. 

The snow that looked like ash. 

"Oi, oi, Rodders? Hello? You alright in there?" The voice continued. 

He turned around to look at Whirl. 

"Ah, I'd know that grief-stricken, slack-jawed, tear-riddled face anywhere. You've either been dreaming about my incredibly, horribly tragic backstory or... your slightly less terrible but still pretty bad one." Whirl offered.

"How did you get in here?" Rodimus grumbled. His vocalizer wasn't nearly as awake sounding as he liked. 

"What a stupid, stupid, stupid question. 'How did I get in here?' I broke the other window." he said, pointing to a pile of glass on the floor. "You're lucky I missed. I was aiming for this one."

"He's not lying." Another voice said. A white-and-blue minibot climbed off of Whirl's back and hopped to the ground. 

"What are you both doing here?" Rodimus sighed. "Today is like, a holiday of rest or something, isn't it? Can't you both rest?"

"Nope. We made plans for you against your will. We already told someone you were coming." Whirl said happily. "It's a date!"

"Not interested." Rodimus immediately shot back. 

"Yes, you are." Whirl threatened. 

"Uh-huh," Rodimus said with an irritated chuckle. "No. Now get out of my room." 

Whirl got up close to Rodimus, optic piercing as he rose to his full height in front of the speedster. He raised a clawed hand and knocked it on Rodimus's chest where his badge sat. 

"Kup would be proud of you, you know?"

"What?" Rodimus hissed. 

"Kup. He'd be proud of you. But he'd be mad, too."

"You better watch your mouth, Whirl. I mean it." Rodimus said. Steam began to rise from his frame.

"No, listen to what he has to say!" Tailgate interrupted. "I'm sure it's something very meaningful! Right, Whirl?"

"Hmm… no, sorry, that was it." Whirl said. "'Cept Roddy here is a spoiled whiny sparkling that leaks in the sink and Kup would have kicked his aft in a second."

Rodimus was on him in a second, but Whirl had expected it. They exchanged blow after blow like two drunk mechs in a loose bar brawl until both of them sat down, covered in dents and exhausted. 

"Feel better?" Whirl asked. 

"Kind of, yeah." Rodimus sighed. 

"Good. Then I have news for you. I have elected myself as your advisor and as your advisor I have decided that tonight you're going to a ball. Not as a squire, not as a friend, but as Lord of Nyon."

"Nyon doesn't exist anymore, Whirl." Rodimus said. 

"Sure it does. How could it have an advisor if it didn't exist?" Whirl answered snappily. "As the Lord of Nyon, it's your job to spin that aft for the people. Lord Thunderclash is holding a charity event in his castle tonight and you are the guest of honor. All the money is going to the refugees." 

"Wait," Rodimus said, sitting up. "Are you serious? Whose idea was that?"

"Thunderclash's." Tailgate said happily. "He mmph!" Whirl had covered his mouth with a claw. 

"He just likes helping bots out. You know, he's just that all gung-ho pip pip ripe energon stick in his aft hero type."

"What does that even mean?" Rodimus asked. 

"It means your date- er, ball, the ball is at 8 tonight! So fix those dents and polish up and we'll pick you up at 7!" Whirl shouted as he burst out the unbroken window this time.


	16. Cold Claws, Warm Spark

Winter in Vos was a beautiful sight. The delicate marble architecture was as pale as the snow around it. If he had the time, Megatron would come back to this window spot later with a writing pad and attempt to capture the beauty of what he saw. 

Not the snow or the golden Vosian towers or the ice-laden puffy clouds, no— Megatron found himself enraptured by something much more beautiful and infinitely more interesting. 

Starscream. 

Like many of the other fliers in Vos, Starscream had to cover up his delicate frame with fabrics in order to keep warm. He wore a long royal cloak— red, of course— but, as Megatron noted with significant interest, he was also wearing a long purple scarf around the sensitive cables of his neck. His wings flicked in the cold as he spoke to Windblade and Soundwave in the Courtyard far below, dislodging a few flecks of snow from the tips.

He smiled as Rumble and Frenzy, Soundwave's adopted sparklings, suddenly popped out of the snow and shoved an amusingly large ball of snow down the back of Starscream's cloak. He could hear the shrill screams from below with perfect clarity. 

"Megatron," a quiet voice announced behind him.

"Ravage." He acknowledged. Ravage was another of Soundwave's adopted family. 

Once, he and his flying brothers would have been banned from city life for their alt modes. 

Good thing the beastforming panther was an expert at reconnaissance. 

"What did you find?" Megatron asked.

"You and Screamer are right. Swindle says there are tons of smugglers operating outside his ring and as far as he knows and they're being funded by Luna. He can't figure out where or what they're carrying, though. Could be Syk, could be worse. None of his guys can get close enough to find out. They're tighter lipped than Ultra Magnus on a bad day. Speaking of, one's been able to find the guy for weeks now. It doesn't look good."

"I agree. I don't like this, Ravage. Take Laserbeak and see what you can find out about these shipments and send Buzzsaw to look for any sign of Magnus. I don't want to jump to conclusions, but I doubt this is going to be a simple mercantile dispute. Tyrest should have contacted us by now."

"Alright. I'll send Laserbeak straight back as soon as we find anything." Ravage answered. 

"Be careful, Ravage. No heroics out there." Megatron ordered. 

Ravage laughed. "Not on your life, Megatron. I leave that idiocy to the rest of you."

The panther went to melt back into the dark halls of the palace but stopped already halfway invisible in the shadows.

"Oh, and Megatron?"

"Yes?"

"Congratulations. He's going to say yes, you know." 

"Hmm… everyone seems so certain of that. I do not know if I deserve it. I don't know if I deserve him. I made many mistakes, Ravage. Many that hurt him."

"You both did. The question is: Do you plan on making any more?"

"Of course not! When we fought, I treated him like an enemy. Now… I trust him, Ravage. I trust him too much. I feel like it should bother me, but it doesn't."

"Good. That's love for you, Megatron. It's called 'vulnerability'."

"But how can I be sure he feels the same? That he will say yes?"

"You want my advice?" Ravage asked, flicking his tail. 

"Always." Megatron answered. "You're my friend, too, Ravage."

"Propose to him at dinner tonight."

"Tonight!? I hardly-"

"You've been reading that book about courtship, haven't you? Look at Starscream. He's been wearing more polish lately. He's wearing your colors. He's been staying around the castle for days even though his brothers are in Iacon. He's been courting you."

"I assumed he was staying here out of duty, and the polish is nothing new. The scarf… well, I can't deny that one."

"The trine hasn't been separated this since the war, Megatron. He feels safe with you." Ravage said. "Just get it over with, and you'll see." he finished, and then he was gone. 

Megatron cast his optics back out the window. Rumble, buried up to his waist in snow after Starscream pushed him into it, pointed up at him. All the mechs turned to look at him and he offered a wave. 

Starscream gave him a small, satisfied smirk as his wings twitched upward before he turned and walked back towards the palace. 

Ravage was right. It was time to show Starscream how he truly felt…

And finally get his hands on that handsome seeker frame.

Evening came far quicker than he would have liked. It seemed time itself had been waiting for this moment, too. 

"It'll be fine, Megs," Orion whispered as he patted his amica on the back. "Don't worry."

"I don't know what I'm doing, Orion. When do I ask? What do I say?"

"Just listen to your spark, Megatron." Shockwave said. "You'll find a moment and it'll come to you."

A loud murmur spread the the crowd. Starscream rounded the corner and stopped, confusion and even a little concern painted over his face at the sight of his crowded dining hall. 

Perhaps word had spread around a little more quickly than Megatron liked. Still, Soundwave had informed him that Vosians preferred large amounts of witnesses to proposals. Tonight, it seemed like half of Starscream's flock had gathered to the palace.

Thankfully, Star was never one to let embarrassment get the best of him. He quickly waved a greeting to the crowd and carried forward like he hadn't noticed a thing. 

He saw Megatron and quickly seated himself beside the larger mech. They exchanged small talk for a time, moving microns closer to each other as the night wore on until they were hip to hip. 

"So, you've been in Vos for a few days now. What do you think of my home?" Starscream asked, not looking up at Megatron as he gazed into the swirling   
cube of energon in his claws. 

Out of the corner of his optics, Megatron saw Soundwave and Windblade go from table to table. It was almost time.

"It's more beautiful than I had imagined. The city is lovely, though not as lovely as the palace itself. I hope to come back and visit it often once Tarn has recovered." 

"Thank you," Starscream said, finally turning his bright red optics up to Megatron's. "Vos is always open to you, you know. All you have to do is ask. Although... you might end up moving here instead. We do have seasons, after all." He added playfully. 

Megatron couldn't stop the excited revv of his engines if he tried. 

He didn't. 

To Starscream's shock, he pushed himself away from the table and stood abruptly. 

At this cue, several bots around them also stood and pulled instruments out of their subspaces. They began to play a soft suite. 

Megatron extended a hand down to the seeker prince. 

"I can't fly like you, Starscream, but if you'd do me the honor, I'd love to dance." He said. 

Starscream looked at his outstretched hand. He hesitated for a moment. 

Megatron had felt fear, but never had his spark pulsed in his chest like this. He could feel the charge in his throat as the world seemed to slow to a stop. 

Then Starscream out his hand in his and Megatron pulled and they were together at last. 

"When did you learn to dance?" Starscream asked as Megatron began to waltz with him. 

"When I realized I wanted to." He answered honestly. "When I realized I wanted to try it with you."

For once, the seeker seemed speechless. He simply buried his head against the large mechs frame and let himself be guided across the floor to the light sounds of violins and the deep timbre of cellos. They were lost in each other's fields and the motions of their steps, feeling something they could easily name but both too shy to say it as Megatron bowed the seeker back into a deep dip before righting him again.

Megatron, for the first time in his life, surrendered himself down to one knee. The music quieted. The mechs that had been dancing around them came to a halt as Megatron took Starscream's hands in his own.

"Prince Starscream," he began, "you have long since proven your worth to me as a leader, as a commander, and as a friend. You have humbled me and changed me like no other mech. There is no one else that could have your place in my spark. Will you do me the honor of becoming my Conjunx Endura?"

All of Vos held its breath in that room as they waited for their Prince to answer.

"Yes! Yes, yes, a thousand times, yes!" Starscream cried, throwing his arms around Megatron and pressing a kiss to his lips. Megatron stood and lifted the mech with him, deepening the kiss until Starscream nervously patted at his shoulders to stop. 

Damned Vosian modesty.


	17. These Hands Were Made For Loving You (E)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dratchet, anyone? This whole chapter is E, so feel free to skip (you won't miss anything).

Ratchet had a problem, and that problem was the inappropriately gorgeous swordsmech meditating serenely on the floor beside him as he finished up the last of his his records for the day. 

In truth, he hadn't managed to get a single fragging thing done. How could he when Drift was just sitting there like he didn't drive him out of his damned processor?

He held back a sigh. It's not like he had said anything about it yet. How does one bring that up? "I love you and I know this relationship is kind of strange, but I really want to frag you?"

Ratchet prided himself on his self-control. He had probably fragged more mechs than any pleasure bot from Iacon to Kaon and (assuming Drift wouldn't mind) had grown accustomed to his hyperactive interface drive.

Drift was tearing that self-control to shreds and the slagger hadn't done a single thing since they sparkmerged. Not a kiss, not a touch, no embraces or hand-holding. He was actually going to go insane for lack of holding hands. 

He'd fragged, dated, messed around, sure, but he'd never thought himself a conjunx-ready mech until he met Drift. Crazy or not, he knew Drift was the one for him the moment they met. Ratchet didn't believe in fate like Drift did, but he was willing to give this one time a pass if it meant the speedster felt the same. 

The mech he'd been fantasizing about for nearly a decade was right in front of him and they hadn't fragged yet. Why was everything happening backwards?

Ratchet wasn't sure if it was a testament to how much he cared about this newfound relationship that he hadn't jumped the speedster, but he felt like his spark was going to just roll right out of his chassis if he didn't say anything soon. 

Not that he couldn't manage if Drift wasn't quite interested in interfacing. He'd make do with that just fine, but that wasn't it. 

Ever since they sparkmerged, he could feel the desire thrumming in Drift's tightly reined E.M. field. It pulsed just underneath that intense, bright happiness every time he was near Ratchet. That was something Ratchet had to get used to. 

But the well of pent-up desire that was all for him? Ten years of desperate longing and dreaming of the touch of one mech that might never come? Ratchet knew that feeling and he wanted so badly to just push Drift onto his desk, sink his spike into that pretty little valve and show the mech just what he'd been missing all this—

"Ratchet?" Drift suddenly spoke up.

If Ratchet hadn't been so used to mechs interrupting his thoughts or barging into his office, he might have jumped. If he were any younger, he might have even blushed. 

"Yes?" He answered.

"Who else is still here at the clinic?" 

"Hmm," Ratchet thought, glad at the distraction to his thoughts. "Probably just us. Ambulon stays late sometimes, but he's been eager to leave lately now that he's got his— whoah!" Ratchet grunted as Drift suddenly climbed into his lap. "What, uh, what are you doing, Drift?"

"You haven't written anything for an hour and you stopped controlling your field fifteen minutes ago." He answered, letting a hand run down Ratchet's chest. "What were you thinking about?"

You, he wanted to say. "Just, uh, been a long day." A total heap of slag. It had been a great day with only a handful of minor injuries to treat. Judging from the growl that left Drift's vocalizer, he knew it, too. 

"I've been waiting for you to make a move on me for days, Ratchet. Did I do something wrong? Is there something you don't like?" He asked with a pout, suddenly letting his anxiety leak into his field. 

"What?" Ratchet asked, confounded as he gently pushed Drift off of him and onto the desk behind him. "No, no, it's not you. Slag, kid, I've been going nuts trying to keep my hands to myself." 

The anxiety in his field eased, only to be replaced with guilt and a little sadness. " But I thought you… I'm sorry, Ratchet. I shouldn't have assumed you'd want to interface with me yet. We really don't know that much about each other, do we?" He said. 

"Hey, hey, Drift, it's alright." He sighed, reaching to hold Drift's hand in his own as he pushed a blanket of comfort into his own field. "You just caught me by surprise is all. I do want to 'face with you, but not before you're ready. I'm a lot to handle, Drift." He joked. "They don't call me the 'party ambulance' for nothing. To be honest, I've never wanted to frag someone so badly in my life and I'm trying very hard not to scare you away."

Drift was quiet for a moment as his field swirled with warmth again. Ratchet smiled as Drift gently squeezed his hand. 

Then Drift began to run the tips of his fingers across his highly sensitive wrist joint. 

"Uh, Drift…" he panicked, looking up to the mech's eyes. The speedsters' face was neutral, but he was betrayed by the excitement that had began to prick into his field. 

"I once heard that medics have very sensitive hands. I've always imagined what it might be like to play with yours." He said. 

Without giving the medic any warning, he allowed his hands to gently scratch down the surface of his palm to the tip of his perfectly tuned servos.

Ratchet should have been embarrassed at how fast his fans kicked on, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He'd fragged his way across Cybertron and back, probably in every way imaginable and then some, but none of that compared to this. He'd never been in love before. 

None of them had been Drift. 

"Can I frag you, Ratchet?" The mech asked.

"Yes," he said breathlessly. "W-wait," he added, processors rebooting just enough to ask, "frag me as in…?"

"I wanna spike you, Ratchet. Please?" He asked. "If that's okay with you."

Drift would be the death of him, if the furious flustered scrambling of his spark had anything to say about it. 

Drift must have confused his lack of response as a sign of discomfort, because he immediately dropped his hand.

"Sorry, Ratchet, is that too much?" He asked apologetically. 

"No, no, I don't care, it's just…" he cursed at himself yet again for his damned awkwardness. He had imagined the speedster using that famed speed to frag him before, but to have him sitting right here, asking for it? Now it was his turn to feel self-conscious. "It's just been a long time since anybody wanted it that way around, is all. I'm not sure the old thing looks quite as good as it used to." He joked. 

"I don't care what it looks like, Ratchet. It's you. I just want to make you feel good." He said.

Pit. There went all his resolve. He really couldn't stop the flush of energon that rushed to his faceplates this time. 

"Well," he grumbled in embarrassment. "If you really want to, I won't stop you."

The speedster cupped his face in his hands and made ratchet look him optic-to-optic before he pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. 

His field was practically singing as he pulled Ratchet up and out of the chair and pulled him to the off-shifter's berth in the back of the room. 

He backed Ratchet up against the berth until his knees hit the edge and he fell backwards, pulling Drift down on top of him.

"Are you sure about this, Ratchet? You're okay with me?" He asked, pausing the slow circular touches of his hands down Ratchet's chest.

Ratchet ex-vented heavily in frustration. "Yes, you idiot, now please, are you going to keep going or am I going to have to detach your spike and use it myself?" 

"Maybe next time," Drift teased as he began to climb down Ratchet's body, pressing kisses all the way until he reached the medic's overheated interface panel. 

It snapped open before he could even send the command.

"Eager, are we?" Drift teased with a smug grin, but Ratchet could hear his fans roaring just as loud as his own.

He traced the edge of Ratchet's gorgeous valve— he would save the handsome matching spike for later— white protoform lips with a thin ring of gorgeous scarlet biolights, with a bright-red exterior node practically begging Drift to touch it.

So he did. 

He slid one finger into Ratchet's slickening folds while his thumb teased at the node. 

"Drift, come on, please." Ratchet moaned. "More."

Drift plunged a second finger in, both going deeper into the warm channel as he began to spread Ratchet's valve in earnest. He curled his fingers, searching for that interior patch of ceiling nodes and finally finding it, causing Ratchet to cry out as a gush of lubricating fluids covered Drift's hands. 

He pulled his hand away and climbed back up the berth to kiss Ratchet. He let his hand snake back down to play with Ratchet's still-pressurized spike. 

Ratchet caught him.

"Fraggin' tease," Ratchet huffed breathlessly. "I like the enthusiasm, kid, but can you please just spike me already?"

"Alright, alright," Drift laughed lightly, and oh, how the sound of it shook Ratchet to his core. He was positively doomed. 

Finally, Ratchet heard Drift's panel click open and he knew the swordsmech could feel the shiver in excitement as he caught sight of his spike. 

It was long but just the right amount of thick, black and modded with gentle red ribs. Yellow biolights flickered just along the cord on the underside. 

He'd have to taste it later.

Now he was focused on the feel of it as the smooth tip of the speedster's spike pressed against the entrance of his valve. 

Drift pushed gently inside but then paused, tapping Ratchet's thighs with one hand 

"Come on, Ratty." He said. "Lift 'em."

Ratchet hesitated. He knew he wasn't a light mech, so he feared wrapping his legs around Drift might be a little much for the speedster to handle.

With a huff and roll of his optics, Drift drove his hips into a shallow thrust that glanced across some of those interior nodes.

Drift grabbed his legs and put them around his back as he pressed even closer. 

"You can't hide anything from me, Ratchet." He smirked as he pushed further into the doctor. 

Both of them groaned in unison as Drift finally bottomed out. Drift leaned down to give Ratchet a kiss as he waited for the medic's calipers to finally adjust. 

"Move, Drift," Ratchet finally begged as he ground his hips against the speedster for friction, any friction he could find.

Drift couldn't still his hips if he tried. He drew his spike out and slammed it back into Ratchet's valve. He kept his pace torturously slow but deep, Ratchet's optics flaring as Drift ground his spike against node after node to feel each gush of lubricant drip out of his lover's valve. 

He reached one hand up and grabbed Ratchet's from where it had been gripping the berthsheet. 

Ratchet had no warning as Drift took his fingers into his mouth and gently ran his denta across the tips of his servos as another deep thrust had Drift's spike pressing mercilessly into his centremost node and he cried out as he was thrown into a powerful overload. 

Without a second thought, he opened his spark casing and bared it to Drift, who quickly merged them together.

His calipers seized around Drift's spike as the shared energy of their sparks sizzled across his nodes and both were trapped in an intense feedback loop of pleasure and charge. Drift followed the medic with his own overload before he fell to his arms, panting breathlessly over Ratchet's shaking frame as their sparks comforted each other in the afterglow. 

As soon as his systems restored themselves and he made sure Drift was alright— both processes prodded along by his medical coding— Ratchet let himself relax. 

It felt nice to have the speedster's weight on top of him, inside of him. He could feel Drift's emotions Eco back into him across the bond. Gratitude, pleasure, adoration, patience, and more desire, still. 

He felt the same. Their sparks practically sang as they existed perfectly together in that one little moment. 

So this is love, Ratchet thought. 

He almost pitied Drift. They had 10 years of interfacing to make up for and he had the speedster all night.

"Hey Drift," he asked. 

"Mm-hm?" the swordsmech hummed.

"Is your valve modded, too?"


	18. Favors for the Favored

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thunderclash writes off some taxes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry if you missed my frequent, sporadic updates! I hope I can make it up to you by sharing my new TF tumblr sideblog: https://crystalconjunx.tumblr.com/
> 
> I'm taking some reqs and would love if any of you wanted to check it out! Feel free to chat with me there or talk more about my fics here! 
> 
> I'm trying to clean this fic up, little by little! Thanks for sticking with it so far!

Thunderclash couldn't believe his luck. Whirl and Tailgate had found him that morning in the palace gardens and, once they managed to convince him to share his feelings of longing and regret, had given him the idea for the Nyonian charity gala. It would allow him to take his mind off the tragedies of the world and instead channel his energies into helping others. The interesting Wrecker and his tiny friend had also thoroughly assured Thunderclash that Rodimus himself would be more than happy to attend.

A few hours after he made a few desperate calls, he had run into Lord Getaway while he was shopping for something special at Swindle's.

Most of the businesses in Iacon were closed for the Day of Remembrance, but Swindle had never been one to turn down the chance to make a profit. For once, Thunderclash found himself grateful for Swindle's love of shanix.

"So, 'Clash," Getaway began as he followed the older Knight through the shop. "I hear you're throwing a charity ball out of the blue tonight. What's the occasion? You found a noble mech to woo or something?"

"No, nothing like that," Thunderclash blushed. "It's been brought to my attention that many of the Nyonians have been struggling to readjust to life here in Iacon, even more so than I realized. I took the liberty of inviting all the knights and nobles in town to donate whatever they could, and then tonight we will all share a feast with the refugees."

"Feasts, donations, engex. You've got a big spark, Clash. Maybe too big. You might as well give them the whole manor next." Getaway sighed coolly.

Thunderclash paused, smile on his face fading as if he had been struck by a sudden realization. He turned to Getaway and excitedly grabbed the mech by his shoulders. 

"That's a great idea, Getaway!"

"What? Woah, woah, woah, 'Clash," Getaway said, peeling the Knights servos off his shoulders. "It was just a joke! You aren't seriously planning on just giving away your house, are you? Don't be crazy! Think about this for a second. It's been in your family for generations!"

"Don't worry, my friend. I've been planning to move into one of the smaller apartments in town anyway." He said, affectionately patting the shorter mech on his shoulder pauldron. "I didn't do enough in the past to stand up for Nyon or any of the other low-casters. It's only right that I do what I can for them now."

"But-"

"Aha!" Swindle's voice called from the back of the shop. "I knew I had it in here somewhere, Thunderclash. 3 jars of Premium High-Finish Calaisian Polish. I found them in a market near Velocitron. Bought them right from under Daytrader's nose." He said smugly. 

"This is fantastic!" Thunderclash said. "It's been so long since I've been able to wear real Calaisian polish. It always smelled just like the Eastern Sea…" he said wistfully. "How much do you want for them, Swindle? I know they must be quite rare now."

"Well, you're a great bot, 'Clash, but you're right. I can't just let them go for free. Still… I have an idea. I know Lord Shockwave gave you a fair deal of the Palace's estate when he moved into the place, right? Why don't we hold a charity auction sometime, me and you? You give me a 15% cut, I'll handle the sales, the rest goes to the refugees."

"Yes, yes! What a marvelous idea, Swindle!" Thunderclash beamed as he shook the merchant's servo to seal the deal. "I'm sure there are plenty of pieces that could net a high price in your hands. This is wonderful news, my friends! Oh, I can't wait to see Rodimus tonight and tell him our plans!"

"Rodimus? Wait, wait, wait. You're inviting that guy?" Getaway sputtered as he followed the tall knight out of Swindle's shop. Both transformed and drove through the quiet city towards Thunderclash's home.

"Of course! He'll be the guest of honor as he is the Lord of Nyon now. What kind of host would I be if I didn't specially invite him to an event in his people's honor?"

"But come on, 'Clash, haven't you heard the rumors?" Getaway hissed before dropping his voice to a whisper. "They say he's just a crazy heatmech with a dangerous ability. Some people think he started the fire in Nyon himself, just to get Kup out of the way."

"I'm certain those rumors are just nonsense." Thunderclash said. "I haven't any reason to believe he is anything but a kind mech. The Nyonians wouldn't have chosen him to be their new leader if they distrusted him."

"But you met Kup, didn't you? And all the other Wreckers. Everyone said Impactor was supposed to lead after him.". 

"I'm sure that Impactor simply saw whatever Lord Kup saw in Rodimus. He was never one to be easily impressed. No," he added emphatically, "I am certain that Rodimus is a capable mech in his own right."

The blue knight slowed to a stop at the gated entrance to the manor, transforming back as he looked back to his friend. 

"Will you be attending the ball tonight, my friend? You are more than welcome, of course I understand if you have other plans."

"Sure, I'll be there," Getaway said. "I just have some things to take care of first." 

"Very well, my friend!" He shouted as the mech drove off. "Take care! I'll see you this evening!"

As he made his way into his old home, he was overcome with affection at the sight of his friends and allies diligently working to assist him with party preparations. He did his best to be a dependable mech and his faith in others often rewarded him with kindness in return. He was never the type to ask for a favor in return for a kind deed, but when he asked if any of the mechs in town would be willing to help him on such short notice, all of them had agreed on the spot. 

Lady Chromia, Knockout, and Ser Strongarm worked with a few other bots to put up decorations, while Breakdown and Hardhead kindly brought in energon goodies from their bakery. 

Thunderclash just knew it was going to be a wonderful evening. The polish on his frame gave him a confidence he hadn't felt for a thousand years. 

He thought about asking Rodimus if he was interested in being courted, but he shook the thought from his processor. The ball was meant to help the Nyonians, first and foremost. Then he could announce his plans to donate the manor. Once that was settled, maybe then he could privately ask Rodimus if he would be interested in. Rodimus seemed like a mech who preferred to consider things on his own time before making a decision.

But, that didn't mean Thunderclash wouldn't do his utmost to impress the handsome speedster. The polish was only a small part to play in the evening he had planned. 

The first guests arrived in the early evening. All the nobles, Iaconians, and the refugees began to arrive at the same time, greeting each other politely as they made their way into the large halls of the manor. Inside, they began to chat amongst each other while Chromia and Strongarm began to collect the donations from the Nobles and their wagons. 

Whirl was supposed to arrive with Rodimus and his friends at 8 p.m. exactly, where Thunderclash would greet them and welcome them inside as the guests of honor. 

At least, he would have, had Rodimus not arrived completely alone and polished as brightly as a Cybertronian sunrise. 

"Sup, 'Clash." He greeted. "Whirl said to tell you he would have come but Tailgate got some candy stuck in his intakes or something. Got a nice crowd so far though, huh? Thanks for inviting us all, by the way." He said before doing his best impression of an Iaconian bow. A few passing Nyonians giggled at his attempt and he shot them a withering look as they ran inside laughing. "Sorry. Never been one for the formalities. Preceptor's lessons never stuck for long."

Thunderclash returned the bow out of polite habit. "Not at all, Rodimus," he replied. "I'm just happy you could attend. There's no need for formality here, however. We're all friends here to celebrate." He said, reaching his hand out for Rodimus's. "May I show you around?"

"Sure. Lead the way, Mi'lord." He answered with a smirk, taking the Knight's servos and letting the large mech guide him inside. 

It really was a beautiful home, he reflected. Towering vaulted ceilings, turreted spires, generations of gilded glyphs carved into white walls. Even Thunderclash was dwarfed by its size. At times it had even felt hollow. 

Now it was filled to the brim with smiling faces and roaming frames, crowds of mechs weaving together as they made new friends and met again with old ones. 

"Not a bad place thing you have going on here, Thunders. Is this what it was like back in the day?" Rodimus asked as he leaned over a nearby railing.

"Not exactly." Thunderclash said. "Typically the council only allowed for events planned weeks in advance. Guest lists of viable nobles had to be predetermined and attendance was often mandatory."

"Yikes. That sounds…"

"Dreadful, I know." He responded. "I enjoyed them at times, but I know now how lucky I was to be favored by the Council. Favor I did not even earn." He said bitterly, letting his hand trace the part of his chest armor over his matrix.

"Hey, hey, that's not true." Rodimus said. "I heard the stories from Kup and Ratchet. You were pretty big news during the war. He said you saved a whole city once, using just your little servo and an empty glass." The speedster said seriously while gesturing wildly with a small finger.

It made him chuckle despite himself. "If you think so highly of me, I suppose I must be doing something right."

Suddenly Rodimus let out a yelp, clutching a hand to the back of his neck and spinning around.

"Rodimus! Are you alright?" Thunderclash asked.

"Yeah, I just... I don't know. It just felt like someone pinched me or something." He said sheepishly.

Thunderclash looked around. There was nobody nearby, save for a few chatting mechs against the wall. 

"Well, I believe it's time I make my announcements. Care to join me?" 

"If you're sure about this, Clash. I appreciate what you're doing, you know." Rodimus said as he followed the knight to the end of the ballroom.. "It's been a long time since someone… well, since someone new offered to give us a hand. Iacon's not half bad you know? I might wanna move here myself someday." 

Thunderclash had to ruthless stomp down the start-up protocol for his fans as the colorful mech looked up at him with optics he could only describe as fond as Chromia pulled him onto the podium. 

He forced himself to look away from the speedster as he spoke, failing to notice when another mech grabbed him from the crowd and disappeared down a dark hallway.

**Author's Note:**

> Rating has changed to Explicit for the good-good beginning in chapter 8.


End file.
